The Nephalem Soul ( formerly 'The Dark Side of Valor' )
by Magnet-Head
Summary: **This story will contain spoilers for Diablo 3 and the expansion** ** This is an alternate, and probably much longer, version of my story 'The Dark Side of Valor. The first two chapters are the original version, and from chapter 3 forwards it follows the much longer timeline, which is why I'm renaming it 'The Nephalem Soul' ** Tyrael and Valla investigate. Sanctuary is never safe.
1. Sanctuary - The Dark Side of Valor 1

The Dark Side of Valour

magnedhead

* * *

The village had been smouldering for weeks. Located on the eastern edge of the Aranoch Desert there had been no warning bells from a nearby settlement to direct aid, so when daemons had struck it had been over quickly. The fiends had taken few prisoners and even then, only for their entertainment and sustenance. The corpse in front of Tyrael had been tortured and then killed, most of its lower body consumed by daemons. He gripped his sword _El'druin_ tighter before rising to his feet. The sight had made him furious, a fury he intended to turn on their opponents.

"This is grim indeed." Valla said. The Nephalem too had been examining a corpse of an unfortunate villager. It had sustained similar injuries.

"It is quite likely that we will find no survivors." Tyrael said, steeling himself to the thought.

"I didn't expect any." Valla said grimly and stood up. One of the daemon huntress' crossbows came into Vallas hands in a blur and she began examining it for faults or potential problems.

"Are you all right, Nephalem?" Tyrael asked.

"Nephalem? I have a name, you know." Valla responded. When Tyrael simply looked back at her, she sighed and continued her work.

"I will be fine, thank you Tyrael. I just suppose I hoped that once we had defeated both Diablo AND Malthael, two foes of cosmos-shaking proportions, Sanctuary would calm down a bit, be a happier place if only for a spell,"

Valla looked at the mutilated corpses and the smouldering village on the horizon again, "And in recent weeks I have been proven soundly wrong. Sanctuary is just as full of evil, sickness and death as it has always been. Now it is just through more personal and savage means than some grand ritual.

"Perhaps we missed something, some canker Malthael or Diablo left behind-"

Tyrael put a hand on Valla's shoulder. He could not help but notice that when the Nephalem became agitated, her eyes took on a golden shade. "Malthael is dead, Heavens rest his spirit, and Diablo was banished. And if there is some grand evil at work again, that is why we are here. Be at ease, Valla."

Valla locked eyes with Tyrael for a moment before her shoulders slumped again and she took a deep breath, the crossbow vanishing under her cloak again. "Thank you Tyrael. It's been a rough year. Now let's get going, there is still a small chance that someone survived."

The scene of mutilation they had found on the outskirts of the village paled in comparison to the village centre. Piles of corpses rotted next to collapsed huts, plumes of smoke still curling from holes in their roofs. Spikes of hell-rock had impaled women and children around which impish daemons were dancing and cavorting. Gargoyles were circling in the sky, too caught up in their competition for food to notice Tyrael and Valla's approach.

Valla pulled up her cloak to cover her nose against the stench of death that was blowing out of the village. Tyrael did not seem to notice.

"None of these vile fiends appear in charge." Tyrael whispered angrily.

"Indeed." Valla responded. The golden glow of Nephalem power had returned to her eyes.

The Nephalem rose from their hiding spot and, dual hand-crossbows appearing in her hands in a blur of motion, unloaded on the gargoyles flying in the sky. In a moment the flyers were torn asunder in a hail of crossbow bolts, their stony hides no match for Valla's armaments. The fiends on the ground stopped in their revelry and looked dumbfounded at the winged creatures tumbling out of the sky above them, not noticing Tyrael's charge before it was far too late. _El'druin_ split one daemon from throat to hip before it had time to cry out and then continued, confusion rising amongst the daemon herd as they torn to pieces by sword and bolt.

The fight was over quickly, the daemons weak and unprepared for an attack. The only injury sustained by the companions was a minor cut from when a panicked daemon had managed to lay a claw on Tyrael's cheek. It had taken a crossbow-bolt to the temple before it had taken another breath.

"Tyrael, sit down." Valla indicated a large chopping block that the villagers must have used for firewood before the attack.

"I assure you Nephalem, it was a tiny cut barely worth mentioning. I am just fine." Tyrael responded. Besides the cut, the man's cloak was the only evidence he had been in battle. Valla envied his enchanted armour and sword on which blood and guts never stuck. She herself had no injuries but her armour was spotted with daemon fluids.

The daemon huntress pointed to the improvised seat again and unhooked her water-skin. "You won't be saying that when it gets infected. Now, sit down."

Tyrael, chastised, sat down and held still while Valla washed the cut. Even as the Aspect of Wisdom it would take Tyrael a little while longer to adjust to his new life as a mortal and the requirements that entailed.

"Thank you, Valla. I had not thought of it like that." Tyrael said while trying to resist the urge to rub at his cheek.

"It is nothing. Daemons are vile creatures in every sense. Cleanliness of any sort is not their forte. Now, survivors and then we try and discover if there is anything more to this attack."

As Tyrael had suspected they found no survivors. One young girl had hidden herself in the cellar of one of the houses before it had collapsed. The poor girl had given up the ghost, dead despite no injuries on her person and all the food-stores the family had stored in their larder. Valla carried her out into the village square and laid her to rest in one of the corpse-piles before lighting them on fire, giving the villagers as much of a burial as was reasonable. It reminded Valla too much of her own child-hood, but the two companions had come here to investigate, not to spend days digging graves.

Their rescue effort attempted, the two gathered in the centre of the village. Tyrael gently planted _El'druin_ in the bloody soil. The holy blade lifted off the ground by a few inches and the central jewel changed in its brilliance. Globules of energy rose off the daemon corpses and floated into the jewel for a minute before a trail of sorts became evident in the air, like a scrap of blood-covered cloth hanging in mid-air. It led out of the village towards the ocean. A thick pillar of smoke rose there but the village had not extended that far out.

"Their hell-gate." Valla said.

"Indeed." Tyrael agreed. But as Valla strode off and Tyrael made to grasp his blade and follow, his touch caused another reaction in the holy sword. The trail vanished, and the blood-red spots vanished from the central jewel, to be replaced by a single glowing spot that sped off, leaving a trail of radiant dust that led off in a different direction from the hell-gate.

"Wait a moment, Nephalem. There is something else here."

Valla stopped and turned, taking in the glowing trail with a glance. "A bigger daemon?"

"No, it is an angelic presence. An angel passed through here." Tyrael responded.

"Really? Before or after the attack?"

Tyrael rose to his feet, _El'druin_ at his side. "Far before, I would hope. I cannot condone any of my angelic brethren passing through this charnel-house without taking action."

Valla took out one of her crossbows and held it to her side, eyes fixed on Tyrael. "Do you want to go take a look?"

"I do, but you need not accompany me. You have helped the High Heavens enough without getting involved in our personal matters. I will send a signal if I am in need of assistance." Tyrael said. He was not looking back at Valla but was instead staring off into the desert where the trail was leading.

"I will close that hell-gate then. If it comes to it, I too will send a signal. Good luck Tyrael." With that, Valla strode off towards the plume of smoke in the distance and the hell-gate it promised.

"Blessings of the High Heavens to you, Nephalem." And Tyrael grasped _El'druin_ tighter and stalked after the trail.


	2. Is Never Safe - The Dark Side of Valor 2

The Dark Side of Valour

magnedhead

* * *

The trail snaked through the dunes of the Aranoch Desert until the smoking village was just a plume on the horizon, the glowing path leading to a radiant fissure suspended in the air in the shadow of a sand-dune. Tyrael recognised it well enough; it was the aftermath of a gateway to the High Heavens. Not just any angel could make those. He approached and lifted _El'druin_ , the holy sword forcing the gateway to reactivate. It flared up with a flash of light, an image of a castle floating among the clouds of the High Heavens, a glistening retreat unknown to Tyrael. Wondering if this was a remnant of Malthael's time before his corruption, Tyrael stepped through the portal.

Compared to the harsh dryness of the Aranoch Desert, the air in the High Heavens was sweet and crisp and the clouds in the distance rolled gently along. It was the kind of landscape Tyrael had become used to through the millennia of his long life but at this moment it did not bring him ease. It disquieted him, raised questions. A fellow angel had had this castle constructed without the Angiris Council being any the wiser. Tyrael knew that sometimes the humans of Sanctuary would construct homes for themselves to reside in during rest periods. This was not such a place. This was a fortress, albeit one with no guards manning the battlements. The complete absence of any creatures, angelic or daemonic, past the rift only disquieted the Archangel more. Tyrael looked about as he walked its halls but saw no sigils or items of heraldry. This place was as functional as the High Heavens come.

Eventually he arrived at something he could only describe as a laboratory. Vials, beakers and burners dominated a long table and the air was heavy with smells and acrid odours Tyrael could not identify.

"An angel dabbling in alchemy? What is this?" Tyrael muttered below his breath as he searched for identification or any notes that might explain this place's existence or purpose.

"Become a common intruder, have we, Tyrael?" A deep voice spoke from the doorway Tyrael had come.

Sensing the essence of the speaker, as well as recognising the voice of an age-old acquaintance, Tyrael knew just who was speaking. "Imperius. Why are you here?" He turned and looked the Archangel in the eye.

The Archangel of Valour stood in the doorway, gilded armour resplendent in the light that suffused the fortress' interior. "I could ask you that very question." Imperius strode into the chamber, the door closing behind him without a sound.

"I was wondering why an angel had passed through a destroyed human village crawling with fiends and daemons and yet had not put them to the sword." Tyrael responded.

Imperius stopped at the table Tyrael was examining. His arms were crossed behind his back, reminding Tyrael of some human magus. "Humans are transient beings. If we angels needed defend them at every turn the High Heavens would forever be without defenders."

Tyrael felt some unease about his ally's manner. Even before Diablo had defiled the High Heavens Imperius' wrath at the presence of daemons had been without equal. He would be the last to leave a herd of daemons unchecked. "Did you not hear me, Imperius? Daemons. This was not some border dispute or bandit attack. Daemons followed the trace of this place, whatever it is, and they resided not but a minute by wing from its very doorstep! Me and the Nephalem found it by chance-"

Imperius held up a gauntleted hand for silence before he interrupted Tyrael. "Understand me well, Tyrael, I loathe the daemons as much as ever, as much as any angel, but I prepare for a greater foe, one that any daemon, even the Prime Evils, pale before." Imperius said.

"A foe greater than the Prime Evils? Who is this? Why have you not informed the Council?" Tyrael demanded. What creature could be so fearsome?

Imperius turned back towards Tyrael ever so slightly, wings slowly extending. "Because this foe is beyond the reach of the Council."

"Imperius, Malthael is gone."

Imperius raised a hand, palm upwards. "I speak not of Malthael or some daemon." The air above Imperius' palm shimmered and an image appeared in golden colours, a scene Tyrael had seen with his own eyes not but a few months past. A human woman with black hair and golden eyes, suspended above the fading image of a dead Archangel on wings of radiant Nephalem energy.

Tyrael gasped and reflexively stepped away from Imperius. "Have you lost your mind, Imperius!? You cannot be serious!"

Imperius closed his fist. The image vanished and _Solarion_ , Imperius' fabled spear, replaced it in his hand. He held the upper hal still split in two from his fight against Prime Diablo at the Diamond Gates. "My mind is sound, old friend. And if you were still stalwart in your wish to defend The Silver City, you would not balk so at my words."

Tyrael raised _El'druin_ before him. "The Nephalem has saved not only Sanctuary but also the High Heavens. They champion our cause! How can you consider them a foe?"

"We both saw it together. The Nephalem's boundless power," At those words Imperius grew tenser as if withholding a great rage, "Great enough to destroy both Diablo and Malthael and yet stand on their own two feet to tell the tale. They are too dangerous."

"Too dangerous!?" Tyrael backed a step towards the door. Something must have corrupted Imperius, some fiend from the Burning Hells. He would need the Nephalem's aid in this.

Imperius continued. "The Nephalem might be an ally today, but what if they should be corrupted, or see some imagined slight made against their precious Sanctuary," Imperius practically spat out the name of the world of mortals, "And they should turn against the High Heavens? Even the possibility cannot be allowed."

Tyrael turned and made to leave but Imperius surged past him on his wings and landed, _Solarion_ pointed at Tyrael's chest. "Your mortal mind must be blinding you to the truth. I cannot allow you to leave, Tyrael."

"You would fight your own brother?" Tyrael asked, unwilling to mask the shock in his voice.

"The Silver City must be kept safe." Was all Imperius said before he raised _Solarion_ and struck. The very air screamed as the fiery spear crashed down towards Tyrael parried it with _El'druin_ and leap backwards to keep his distance. Imperius wasted no time on further discussion and charged, spear forward and aimed for Tyrael. The former Archangel did not counter, but instead cut at the air with his holy sword to open a portal out of the High Heavens and back to Sanctuary, stumbling through before _Solarion_ could land.

Tyrael fell out of the portal and into the desert sand. It was still day in Sanctuary and the plumes of smoke from the smouldering village still painted the horizon.

" _We have found our great foe. I must warn the Nephalem!"_ Tyrael surged to his feet and raised _El'druin_. A surge of power ran up the blade and shot into the sky, so brilliant that was it clearly visible even in the sky of the desert. The portal behind him lit up even the bright desert sands when Imperius followed Tyrael, the Archangel of Valour landing rather more gracefully next to him, spear already sailing around in an arc to crash into Tyrael's sword and sent it flying. Tyrael could hardly take a step before Imperius wrapped a wing-tendril around his foot and toppled him, ensuring his prone position by stabbing _Solarion's_ blade through Tyrael's side.

"I am sorry it had to happen like this, Tyrael. I will take you back to the Silver City and you will see the truth and necessity of my cause." Imperius' gauntleted hand created a new portal in the air, an image of the Diamond Gates visible through it.

One definite downside of his new mortal body was the pain. It reached out from the blade in his flank threatening to disable him. Tyrael grimaced against it and reached for his sword. _El'druin_ flew to his hand in response to his call but Imperius stamped on his sword-arm with an armoured boot before he could use it. Imperius ripped out _Solarion_ , forcing a cry of pain from Tyrael, and lifted him bodily with one arm to carry him through the portal.

But the Archangel of Valour had barely taken a step before 3 crossbow-bolts slammed into the arm holding Tyrael and exploded, sending both of them flying from the portal.

"Imperius!" An apparition of power stood on top of the furthest dune. "What is the meaning of this!?"

The Daemon Huntress Valla stood cloaked in her own power, a mass of wings like an angel but black and crimson in colour. One crossbow was raised, the bolt surrounded by a harsh red glow. Blood coated her armour underneath the wing-cloak, but it was the dark blood of daemons. Valla had closed the daemonic hell-gate without a scratch on her own body.

"Tyrael is your ally! Did losing to Diablo make you lose your mind!?" Valla shouted.

Imperius had risen to his feet with _Solarion_ at his side, staring up at the Nephalem. "I need not reason with you, mortal." He retorted with condescension.

"If I had taken the same stance those months ago, Imperius, neither of us would be standing here today," Valla raised the other crossbow, "So explain yourself, Archangel of 'Valour'!"

"Nephalem, be careful!" Tyrael shouted at the top of his voice, "Imperius means to kill you, he has gone mad!"

Imperius leapt as Tyrael shouted, surging forward with his wings, fading into a pale mist that sped towards Valla. For a moment Tyrael feared his warning had distracted the huntress at a vital moment but she leapt aside from the spear-thrust that erupted from the fog then retaliated, a cluster of bolts that clattered and stung against Imperius' armoured form. Even as the bolts were loosed Valla started moving backwards, creating distance between her and her opponent, but Imperius struck again, blasting a ray of angelic energy at the Nephalem whose crimson-black cloak withered under the assault but ultimately held. The smouldering cloak was swept aside when Valla tossed a handful of round objects at Imperius with one hand and shot an electrified bola with a crossbow in the other. The speed of the counter-attack surprised Imperius for he was briefly bound by the bola and thus unable to leap away before the grenades exploded under him, scattering black smoke and sand all over the battlefield. Valla did not wait for the smoke to dissipate, unloading her crossbows into the cloud, crimson-charged bolts slamming through the obscuring cover. In a long leap Valla hurried to Tyrael's side as he stood, leaning on _El'druin_. A hot desert-wind had begun to kick up, blowing away the black smoke from the Valla's onslaught.

Imperius still stood but barely, leaning heavily on _Solarion_. Motes of angelic essence drifted out of his armour like blood, gathering on the sand in front of him.

"Yield, Imperius. We do not wish to fight you." Tyrael shouted. Valla gave him a look that indicated she felt differently but she did not voice it.

"I do not yield." Imperius roared and rose to his feet. Valla readied her crossbows again but Imperius made no advance towards them and simply extended his left hand and unmade his fist, one gauntleted finger at a time.

Rising out of his hand was a jagged crystal, red like fresh blood. The crystal was slowly spinning under some invisible force.

"What is that?" Tyrael asked. In truth he had some inkling as to what it might be, but he wished dearly that he was wrong.

"You should know even better than I, Tyrael." Imperius responded in a mocking tone before raising it aloft.

Valla's gaze was drawn to it before she stumbled as if drunk, raising her hands to her head and her crossbows tumbling out of her hands. "What, what is happening?" She said in a weak voice. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth was a grimace of agony.

Tyraels suspicions were dreadfully true. "The Worldstone. You tampered with the sundered Worldstone!" Tyrael shouted at Imperius, unable to believe that his own brother would stoop to such methods.

The Archangel of Valour did not respond but began striding towards Valla, who was by now on her knees fighting to even breathe.

Tyrael staggered forwards, one hand clutching the wound _Solarion_ had put in his side and moved to stand between Imperius and the Nephalem. "Stop this madness, Imperius. It must be Baal's lingering presence in the Stone that corrupts you so!" He looked into Imperius' eyes, searching for any sign that his words were being heard. "Please!"

Imperius stopped before Tyrael, _Solarion_ in one hand and the Worldstone-fragment slowly spinning in the other. "Step aside, brother."

"I will not." Tyrael raised his sword as high as he could.

Imperius sighed and bull-rushed Tyrael, knocking his sword aside with _Solarion_ while the larger angel battered the weakened mortal form to the ground. Tyrael gasped in pain and his sword flew a few meters away to stick into the sand.

Valla was desperately trying to rise to her feet when Imperius slammed his knee into her face and lifted her bodily into the air. She struggled for a moment until Imperius' put his spear-point at her chest. He could kill her before she could even take a single breath, let alone defend herself. The woman could barely breathe, let alone move a single finger of Imperius' hand.

"Nephalem," The Archangel of Valour said, "It is true that you are a champion of the Realms and that without your aid The Silver City would have fallen."

He drew her close to his helmet, the blade of _Solarion_ still resting against her chest. "But you are mortal, with a mortal heart. Your power is too great, too unchecked. You are susceptible to corruption, to the influences of daemons."

With a roar he tossed her aside, Valla landing painfully in the desert sand with a gasp of pain. "Know this. I will allow you to continue your crusade, your quest, whatever it may be. But one misstep, one sign that you are becoming an enemy of the High Heavens," Imperius surged to her side in his mist-form before materialising and putting an armoured boot on her stomach and _Solarion_ against her neck, the crimson crystal held above her head, "And I will end you, so I swear by the High Heavens. The Silver City cannot be threatened."

His speech ended, Imperius made his left fist again, cutting off the glow of the fragment. Valla began sucking in great lungfuls of air with a start, coughing against the sand that came with them and while trying to raise herself up on shaking arms.

Imperius stepped away from the recovering Nephalem and past Tyrael who was still struggling on the ground. He said nothing as he raised _Solarion_ and created a portal to the High Heavens then stepped through. The portal closed behind him immediately, leaving Tyrael and Valla alone in the Aranoch Desert.

 _Fin_


	3. Valla

Imperius still stood but barely, leaning heavily on _Solarion_. Motes of angelic essence drifted out of his armour like blood, gathering on the sand in front of him.

"Yield, Imperius. We do not wish to fight you." Tyrael shouted. Valla gave him a look that indicated she felt differently but she did not voice it.

"I do not yield." Imperius roared and rose to his feet. Valla readied her crossbows again but Imperius made no advance towards them and simply extended his left hand and unmade his fist, one gauntleted finger at a time.

Rising out of his hand was a jagged crystal, red like fresh blood. The crystal was slowly spinning under some invisible force.

"What is that?" Tyrael asked. In truth he had some inkling as to what it might be, but he wished dearly that he was wrong.

"You should know even better than I, Tyrael." Imperius responded in a mocking tone before raising it aloft.

Valla's gaze was drawn to it before she stumbled as if drunk, raising her hands to her head and her crossbows tumbling out of her hands. "What, what is happening?" She said in a weak voice. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth was a grimace of agony.

Tyrael's suspicions were dreadfully true. "The Worldstone. You tampered with the sundered Worldstone!" Tyrael shouted at Imperius, unable to believe that his own brother would stoop to such methods.

The Archangel of Valour did not respond but began striding towards Valla, who was by now on her knees fighting to even breathe.

Tyrael staggered forwards, one hand clutching the wound _Solarion_ had put in his side and moved to stand between Imperius and the Nephalem. "Stop this madness, Imperius. It must be Baal's lingering presence in the Stone that corrupts you so!" He looked into Imperius' eyes, searching for any sign that his words were being heard. "Please!"

Imperius stopped before Tyrael, _Solarion_ in one hand and the Worldstone-fragment slowly spinning in the other. "Step aside, brother."

"I will not." Tyrael raised his sword as high as he could.

Imperius sighed and bull-rushed Tyrael, knocking his sword aside with _Solarion_ while the larger angel battered his weakened mortal form to the ground. Tyrael gasped in pain and his sword flew a few meters away to stick into the sand.

Valla was desperately trying to rise to her feet when Imperius slammed his knee into her face and lifted her bodily into the air. She struggled for a moment until Imperius' put his spear-point at her chest. He could kill her before she could even take a single breath, let alone defend herself. The woman could barely breathe, let alone shift a single finger of Imperius' hand.

"Nephalem," The Archangel of Valour said, "It is true that you are a champion of the Realms and that without your aid The Silver City would have fallen."

He drew her close to his helmet, the blade of _Solarion_ still resting against her chest. "But you are mortal, with a mortal heart. Your power is too great, too unchecked. You are susceptible to corruption, to the influences of daemons.

"I will make sure that you never fall to them." Imperius said with finality. Before Tyrael could even rise to his feet, the Archangel of Valour plunged his spear through Valla's chest, the blade of the holy spear exploding out through her cloak in a fountain of blood.

"Nephalem!" Tyrael screamed and surged to his feet, _El'druin_ instinctively flying to his hand. Valla coughed, a gout of crimson splashing onto Imperius' gloved hand. "Im- Imperius, why?" She muttered weakly.

"I already told you, mortal. If your ears caught the lies of the daemons, the High Heavens would be in peril. That I cannot allow."

Tyrael charged the larger angel's flank, but Imperius' wing-tendrils slashed at his face, and when Tyrael moved to counterattack, they wrapped around his legs and pulled, off-balancing the former angel. Now on his back, Tyrael got up just in time to see Imperius stab Valla through the stomach with _Solarion_. He grimaced and tried to rise, but Imperius roared and tossed the mortally-injured Nephalem at him, covering him in Valla's blood and pushing him back a foot through the sand.

"Imperius!" Tyrael screamed and tried again to rise, but Valla coughed weakly and tried to speak, stopping him in his tracks. He could not hear what she was saying.

Imperius swung his spear at the sand, droplets of blood scattering from its blade. He looked as arrogant and self-righteous# as ever. The Worldstone-fragment crimson glow. "My work here is finished. The High Heavens are safe."

"They were safe! Saved by the Nephalem! Without her, the Crystal Arch would be under Diablo's sway! What have you done, Imperius!?" Tyrael shouted, cradling Valla in his arms.

"All is to protect the High Heavens. You would see that, Tyrael, were you not blinded by your misplaced affection for humanity."

With a gesture from his glove, a shining portal appeared behind Imperius. A portal to the High Heavens. "I am going to return to the Diamond Gates. Come with me, Tyrael. We must begin preparing for when the daemons return again."

Tyrael would not meet Imperius' gaze. "Leave me. I have nothing to say to you."

"Tyrael, you are the Aspect of Wisdom. You belong on the Angiris Council. We are brothers." Imperius said.

"Leave me." Was all Tyrael said.

The portal snapped shut with a crackle like thunder, leaving Tyrael and Valla alone in the Aranoch Desert.

Valla coughed again, covering the front of her tunic on blood.

"Do not speak, Nephalem. I will get you to a physician, you will survive this." Tyrael got on his knees beside her and began to lift her before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Valla's face was at peace, contrasted by her own blood covering most of her features. "It's too late for me, Tyrael, and you know that." She whispered, only audible because of the utter silence in the vast desert.

"Don't give in, Nephalem, I will make sure-"

"Tyrael." Valla said with remarkable force given her condition. "There is nothing you can do." To drive home her point, Valla held a hand to the gaping wound in her chest. It was only because of the intense discipline of a daemon huntress that she was even able to speak. Tyrael collapsed back into the sand, finally realising the truth for himself.

"Tyrael…" The Nephalem said, her voice dissolving into another bloody cough.

"Don't speak Valla, you're only hurting yourself further." Tyrael said, trying to hold her in his arms, trying not to think of the hard armour-plates covering his own form.

Valla smiled. "See, I knew you remembered my name." Valla paused. "Tyrael, please protect my home. I can't," She stopped to suck down air, and when she continued, her voice was weak to the point of non-existence, "I can't do it anymore. Please."

Her eyes closed and the hand she had pressed to his chest slipped and fell. Valla, the Nephalem daemon huntress, passed away in his arms.


	4. Stay a While and Listen

Night had fallen. It was a cloudless night, bringing out the full glory of the stars in the sky above New Tristram. She had always heard that encounters with death and danger brought out your true appreciation for life and beauty. Valla supposed that, having fought the personification of Death itself a mere week ago, that must be why the night sky was so much more vibrant than she was accustomed to. The town of New Tristram stretched out before her in the valley below, the place where, as far as the bards knew, this had all started. The Second War against Hell and Diablo, as well as the Reaping of Westmarch. In the far distance the Tristram Cathedral was still visible. One day New Tristram might reclaim that land, but that would be far in the future.

Valla enjoyed the sight for a moment before starting on the last leg of her journey. She was tired of sleeping at the roadside or in small inns and intended to be within the town wall tonight. The veteran daemon huntress kept a sharp eye for any threats on the road, such as there had been the last time she took this journey more than a year ago. This time however, it was quiet. Raised lampposts stood alongside the dirt road, lighting the way, and occasionally fields would line the road. It was peaceful. By the time Valla reached the town gate, she had decided to stow away her crossbows. The guards at the gate recognised her immediately and ran ahead to announce her arrival, leaving the town gate open to the world. A year ago that would have been a death sentence, but Valla supposed that with the new-found peace New Tristram could survive with an open gate even if just for an evening.

She still waited in the opening until the guard returned, villagers in tow.

"Sanctuary be damned, Valla!" The big man shouted, his tree-trunk-like arms wide to embrace her.

"Hello Bron, it's good to see you are all well." Valla said and gave in to the hug.

"That I am well!?" He shouted, "If the stories are true, it is you I should be saying that to!"

"Are they true?" Bron said after a moment, the huge blacksmith leaning in conspiratorially.

Valla stood aside as the town gate was again closed, taking down her hood and shaking out her black hair. It was getting a bit too long for her liking. "Probably not Bron, but they are not completely fake either. It's been a long year."

"Raiding the Palace in Caldeum, the Siege of Bastion's Keep, the War in Heaven and finally the Reaping of Westmarch. Many many tales reached us of the Nephalem's exploits but those were the most consistent ones." An older, wispier man said. He wore a brown-green robe and had an arm in a sling.

"Malachi! What happened to your arm?" Valla said, trying to divert attention away from herself. If she had a gold coin for every bard that had recounted her exploits as she travelled, she could buy her own city.

"Alas, a week ago the whole village fell under a sudden wasting sickness, so sudden that I fell from a ladder onto my arm. Everyone had a miraculous recovery soon after, but a broken arm is not so quick on the mend." The old healer said.

 _A week ago, huh. When Malthael employed his modified Soulstone._ "Ah I'm sorry to hear that."

Malachi chuckled. "Do not worry yourself, Valla. I am glad to see you well, too."

There was an awkward pause in the impromptu town meeting.

Bron cleared his voice. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"What we heard about Leah." Bron said, his voice straining not to crack.

Valla looked around the town square before responding. "Are you sure you want to talk about this in the street?"

"Leah was one of us, even if her mother was not. We found the stories we heard hard to believe." Malachi said, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

Valla met their eyes and held them as she spoke. "Leah did not do it of her own volition. It was done to her. By her mother." Valla balled her shaking hands into fists and took a deep breath, using the discipline she had learned to control the anger she felt. "By Adria."

Bron sighed. "I always knew Adria was bad business. What became of that witch?"

Valla had to look away, staring at the dirt beneath her boots to keep her composure. "I killed her, with my own hand."

A hand was placed gently on Valla's shoulder. She had to force herself not to lash out. "Valla, no measure of vengeance will bring young Leah back."

"Thank you, father Malachi, but I do not need lectures on vengeance." Valla said. Adria was at the front of her mind, and she had to force it away. It was over now, for good or ill.

"Bron."

The burly man jumped at her voice. "I have something I want to discuss with you in the morning, but for now I want a bed and some food. How's the inn going?" Valla made an effort to calm her voice.

Bron smiled slightly and scratched at his beard. "The Slaughtered Calf's ticking along well enough considering we barely get travellers these days. You'll always have a room if you wish."

"Good to hear. I'll be along, I have something I need to do." Valla said.

Valla went back out of town on her own. She was happy that the New Tristram that Leah, Tyrael and herself had left behind had survived, but she had one last duty before she could rest. After the battle in the Crystal Arch, the angels had tracked the remainder of Diablo's essence to a small temple in the High Heavens. The Prime Evil's form had been reduced to that of a slight human female. Diablo's essence had vanished, leaving behind Leah's dead body.

Valla had been allowed to bring Leah's ashes home with her, back to Tristram where her beloved uncle Deckard had also been laid to rest.

The hill was innocuous, but Valla remembered it well. She had been too caught up in her hatred of the witch Maghda and her demon coven to pay much attention to Leah's grief when they burned Deckard Cain on the funeral pyre. Valla had heard the stories of what the old Horadrim had achieved, but to her they were just that, stories. His niece Leah was the scholar that Valla respected. The friend she had lost.

Carefully she took out the sealed urn from her backpack and removed the seals. A small part of her warned that demons might be drawn to the lingering essence in the ashes, but if any did, they would be sent screaming back to the Nine Hells.

The wind picked up and pulled Valla's hood down, pulling out her long braid from her cloak. The urn was heavy in her hands. "I'm sorry, Leah. Sorry I wasn't there. I could have done something, could have stopped Adria. Something-" Valla's vision blurred and her voice began to fail her.

"Adria's designs had been in motion for nearly two decades. Impulsive actions had little chance." A deep voice said.

Valla hurriedly rubbed at her eyes and turned about. The dark-skinned man was standing behind the one gnarled tree that had survived on the top of the wind-swept hillock. "Tyrael! What brings you here to this backwater place?"

The mortal archangel's face was lined with worry but still he smiled at her. "A mutual friend." He strode up the hill and stood beside Valla. Wearing a long brown cloak, the only visual hint to his stature was the pommel of _El'druin_ sticking out of its folds. "I wanted to pay my respects to Leah too. For how short a time I knew the young lady, she was every bit the hero her uncle was."

"I wish I could have forced Adria to pay more dearly than mere death." Valla said, spitting out the name of the vile witch.

"She would have deserved as much, but I doubt Leah would want such words at her funeral." Tyrael said in his calm voice.

"You know, Tyrael," Valla said, shifting her grip to hold the urn with one hand, "Sometimes it gets quite annoying how often you're right." Despite that, Valla found herself calmer than before. The urn's lid came off easily.

"Any last words for her? I think she's about to leave." Valla said.

Tyrael reached out and touched the lip of the urn. "You made us all proud, young Leah. I am honoured to have met you and I will ensure that everyone knows the truth of what happened."

Valla nodded along with the eulogy. "Can you say hello to my family for me? My little sister might be lonely, you two will get along great." Valla said and upended the urn, the sharp wind carrying Leah's ashes away.

"I thought your family had all passed away, Valla." Tyrael said with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a saying, Tyrael, don't worry about it."

"Right." The Archangel of Judgement and Wisdom said sheepishly.

Valla and Tyrael returned together. They had dug a small hole and left the urn in the soil of the hill. Neither of them were used to keeping much around.

"And you're sure you have had breakfast and lunch today?" Valla said.

Tyrael pointed upwards at the night sky. "I have been making notes of the movements of the sun so as to use that to time when to eat food."

"Remind me to tell you about the shorter days in winter." Valla said with a smile.

Tyrael began to speak, stopping in his tracks and alerting Valla when New Tristram came into view. All the villagers of the town were gathered in the town square, forming a big semicircle with Bron standing on a crate in the middle.

"Leah is innocent!" Bron shouted, arms raised. "Valla herself returned and told me and Brother Malachi what happened. She is innocent!" The announcement was met with scattered applause and muttering in the crowd. Valla wanted to slug the doubters, but Tyrael's words at the funeral had not gone on deaf ears. Leah would not have wanted that, and it would not help.

"I swear it." Tyrael said, his lined face as serious as ever. "The truth of Leah's heroism will be known."

"You the town crier now, Bron? As well as the innkeeper." Valla shouted at the big man as he was getting down from the impromptu stage.

"Well," Bron answered sheepishly, "I'm actually the mayor. After Holus abandoned us I stood up to the position. A least until we find someone more suited."

"I'm surprised you don't hold town meetings in the inn." Valla said.

"No need to reproach the man, Valla. It is a brave act to step up for your community. Your town is lucky to have you, Sir Bron." Tyrael said, reaching out to shake Bron's hand.

The innkeeper-turned-mayor took the offered hand, eyes darting back and forth between Valla and Tyrael. The daemon huntress just smiled and shook her head. "He's just like this." She said.

"Well, thank you, kind sir. I'm no knight, but I appreciate the kind words." After a moment he added. "We do usually hold town meetings in the Slaughtered Calf though."

"One free pint for all but then they cost, I suspect." Valla said knowingly. "Got two rooms available for the sir and I?"

Bron nodded fervently. "Of course, always space for the saviours of the town."

True to Bron's complaints about the lack of travellers, The Slaughtered Calf was empty when Tyrael and Valla arrived. More tables had been put in, probably to accommodate the town meetings Bron had admitted to, but otherwise the inn was just like when Valla had trudged into town all those months ago.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Valla said, striding into the common-room.

"Apologies Valla, but I do not think I was present at the time." Tyrael said.

"That is true. And by the time you were yourself again." Valla said, pausing.

"Deckard Cain had died, and we were leaving for Caldeum."

Valla was silent for a moment, then went behind the bar and poured herself a pint. The ale was weak, but it was ale nonetheless. "It has been a long year, hasn't it, Tyrael."

"I have little reference, but yes, yes it had." Tyrael said, sitting down on one of the benches.

Bron entered the inn then. He took a look at the beer in Valla's hand but said nothing. "We don't have any locks on the rooms, but you can take whichever two you like. I can't imagine anyone in town would even think to be a hassle to either of you."

"Very kind, sir Bron, very kind."

Valla just raised the pint in response, then went back to drinking.

So the two sat for a while, the mortal angel looking about the dim room and Valla caught up in her own thoughts.

Valla put down the empty pint and stood up. "Right, time to sleep. That goes for you too, Tyrael."

"I do not believe I am tired yet. I shall sit up a while longer I think." He replied.

"Well, I am not your mother, but those bags under your eyes tell another tale. Take my advice." Valla unclasped her cloak and slung it over her arm. "Take sleep when you can get it. On the road, you never know what beast will decide to stalk you."

With that she left Tyrael to his own thoughts, falling asleep the moment she laid down on the bedding.

With a shake, Valla was awake. Her hand reflexively grabbed the hand crossbow she had put under her pillow and jammed it in her assailant's face.

"One more twitch and I shoot." She said, opening her eyes.

"What if that movement is letting go?" Tyrael asked. He was leaning over her bed, gauntleted hands on her shoulders.

"Tyrael, remind me to teach you how to wake someone up." Valla said, sighing and sitting up. The hand crossbow was put down on the bed.

"Apologies Nephalem, but there is someone that wished to speak with you. He said it was urgent."

She began taking her boots on, the long leather jackboots she had worn ever since leaving the Order. "Everyone always says it's urgent. Breakfast is urgent too, but you don't see me shaking the chef awake." Valla grumbled.

"Who's asking for me?" Valla said when Tyrael was not more forthcoming.

"A man calling himself Hans. Come to think of it, he is dressed similarly to you."

"Ah, Lady Valla! It is good to see you well." The man said. He was indeed dressed in the dark leathers and the black hood of the daemon hunters. A hunting bow was strapped over his chest and a bandolier held a number of pouches.

"Don't 'Lady' me, Hans. We were trained in the same group. How is Instructor Ventris?" Valla said. Her mood was still foul from being woken early, but Hans was an old friend. One of her oldest still-living.

"Sorry Valla, but the Master told me to." Hans said. A fresh scar crossed his face, but otherwise he was as she remembered him. "Ventris is well. Still teaching gadgets."

"Well don't. Stick with Valla, no matter what that old coot tells you. Why are you in New Tristram looking for me?" Valla said, wondering why Order-Master Karal had told Hans to be courteous.

"On orders of Order-Master Karal." Hans retrieved a scroll-case from his belt and handed it to her. "You are asked to return to the Dreadlands. For your efforts, you are to be awarded a position as Order-Master."

"No." Valla said, handing the scroll back. When Hans stood stunned, she threw it at his feet.

As the scroll rolled to his feet, Hans found his voice again. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I'm not going back to the Dreadlands so I can be chained up as the Order's trophy champion."

"But it's a great honour! Master Karal nominated you himself and all the other Masters agreed!" Hans said, hurriedly picking up the case.

Valla strode up and pushed Hans a step back, a single finger on his chest. "I'm a daemon hunter, Hans. I hunt. I don't sit in a fortress waiting for the daemons to come to me."

Hans' face reddened and he pushed back, shaking the scroll-case in her face. "You know the Order-Masters don't mean it like that! Besides, you have experience far beyond anyone else. You're the legendary Nephalem now, slayer of Diablo himself! You can't just abandon your responsibility."

"That's exactly why I'm not going back! I'm far more needed out there fighting the daemons than sitting in some dusty keep. You can go back to the Masters and tell them I'll stay on my own path." Valla said and walked past Hans out into the open air.

"I should apologise on the Nephalem's behalf. She is not normally this unhelpful." Tyrael said after Valla had slammed the inn-door shut behind her.

"Then you know a different Valla than I do." Hans said and holstered the scroll-case with a sigh. "She's always been stubborn and headstrong. She almost stormed back into the Dreadlands when they handed her her training crossbow."

"What will you do now, if you cannot fulfil the order of your Masters?" Tyrael said.

Hans pulled his hood down to reveal a bald head covered with yet more scars than his face. "I'll have to stay a few days, prepare myself for the journey back. Khanduras might be safer after Valla's efforts but I fear the Dreadlands will always be perilous. It will be a blow for the future students in the order, but if Valla wants to be obstinate on her own, there is little we can do to change her mind."

Tyrael looked past the man at the closed door. "I will convince her. It is as you said, she cannot evade her responsibilities forever."

The archangel found the Nephalem alone on the hill where they had spread Leah's ashes the day before. She was sitting with her back against the solitary tree, looking up into the skies above Tristram.

"You should treat your friends more kindly. You never know when they might vanish suddenly from your life." Tyrael said as he approached the hillock.

"That is a low blow, Tyrael." Valla replied.

Tyrael strode up to stand beside her but did not sit down. "Nevertheless, young Hans had a point. Your experience would be a valuable thing to pass on to future hunters like yourself."

"If I kill enough daemons, there won't need to be more hunters." Valla said.

"Valla, you cannot kill every single daemon to appear on Sanctuary."

"Watch me." Valla said, standing up. Her voice had an edge that Tyrael did not wish to hear from anyone.

"Valla, that would be impossible even for the armies of the High Heavens." Tyrael said.

"You know what was also impossible for the High Heavens? Defeating Diablo and Malthael." Valla said with venom in her tone.

Tyrael did not reply. She had a point, but her tone still angered the Archangel.

"The order will do fine without my tutelage." Valla said quietly. The anger that Tyrael had sensed was fading, and he could see her fists balled up so tightly that her knuckles were pale. _Discipline and Rage. The two sides to a daemon hunter._ He thought to himself.

"What would Leah do?" Tyrael said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I really would wish you wouldn't bring her up every time, Tyrael." Valla said, but she visibly relaxed, her hands loosening.

"She would see the wisdom in the Masters' request and follow young Hans back to the Order."

Tyrael closed his mouth again and looked surprised at Valla.

"That's what you were going to say, right? You'd be right too." Valla said.

"Well I am the Aspect of Wisdom." Tyrael said after a pause.

Valla chuckled. "You're rather cheeky for an Archangel, you know that?"

"I am unfamiliar with this term 'cheeky', but I will take it as a compliment." Tyrael responded.

Valla just laughed.

"Hans?" Valla said as the two of them returned to the common room of the Slaughtered Calf.

The messenger looked up from his meal with a questioning glare. "Some barb you forgot to tell me to tell the Masters?"

"Yes, quite so." Valla said and sat down in front of him. "I'm coming with you back to the Dreadlands. We leave immediately."

Hans almost choked on his mouthful of food. "Wh-what? Where did this come from?"

"Don't worry about it. I just need to talk to Bron, then we're leaving. Get ready."

Valla left him to it and turned around to find that Tyrael had already brought the innkeeper-turned-mayor to her.

"Eh, your friend said you wanted to speak to me, Valla?"

"Yes." Valla said and fished a heavy pouch from her belt. "Take this and listen to me."

The mayor nodded slowly and opened the pouch, his eyes bulging from their sockets at the contents. The pouch was bulging with gold coins and precious gems.

"There's more. All I ask is that you use that money to rebuild the Calf." Valla said.

"Re-rebuild it?" Bron said. "But it's not damaged."

"Rebuild it under a different name and make it bigger. Make it a place where travellers and wandering scholars are always welcome."

"A different name?" Bron said. He was clearly trying to keep up with the situation and not quite managing.

"Leah's Rest." Valla said.


	5. Infernal Interest

Asheara, the captain of the Iron Wolves, pushed open the door into the small gatehouse. Two soldiers rose from their seats and saluted. They looked just as frustrated as she did.

"What is this mess? Why is the gate locked?" She said, keeping her tone demanding.

"A thousand apologies, Captain Asheara, but this man insisted on seeing you. He was trying to bring a bound-up corpse through the gate." The older soldier said.

Asheara sighed. "Did he say why, or who the corpse was?"

"The man claimed the corpse to be Valla, but I told him if that was Valla the legendary daemon killer, I would eat my own shoe." The older soldier said, his colleague laughing.

The name of the daemon huntress gave Asheara pause. "What does the man look like?"

"Bald, dark-skinned like he's been working in the deep desert for weeks. Armoured."

"Has a fancy-looking sword." The younger soldier added.

Asheara had an idea who the stranger might be. "Right, you two stay here, I will speak with this man alone." She said and strode to the door.

"Alone? What if he's dangerous?" The older man said.

Asheara turned about, a hand on the hilt of her captain's scimitar. "Trust your captain." She could not imagine that the man they had detained meant any human in Caldeum any harm.

Without another word Asheara opened the door and closed it behind her, shutting out the protests of the two soldiers. The room beyond was small, meant simply for detaining suspicious characters until further actions could be decided. A window cast a dusty light on the simple furnishings inside. The dark-skinned man sat in a chair that had not been designed for a man of his size in full armour, one hand on the large wrapped-up bundle on the table. It had an ominous red-brown stain.

"Tyrael. It has been too long." Asheara said, keeping a respectful distance. Her convictions about the man's intent were being sorely tested by the presence he had in the small room.

He looked up at her, his eyes carrying a dangerous energy. "Captain Asheara."

"I apologise on behalf of my men. They're recruits from within the city walls, not veterans of the battle for Caldeum like you and I." Asheara said.

Tyrael stood up, the light falling on his ornate armour and the hilt of his sword. "There is nothing to apologise for, they seem like able guardsmen."

"You always were generous, Tyrael." Asheara said with a smile.

"Though I must admit I want to know, in my position as watch captain, what's the bundle."

Tyrael did not answer at first, but instead reached out and drew back the cloth covering one end of the bundle, revealing a human face, pale with death.

Asheara gasped. "Valla. So, my men heard true."

"It happened a week ago, out in the desert." Tyrael said and replaced the shroud.

Asheara made sure the door behind her was closed and secure, she did not want this information escaping this room before the city guard had been alerted properly. "What happened, Tyrael? Are you okay?" It seemed an odd question to ask the man but still she felt compelled to ask.

"We were investigating the destroyed villages and caravans out in the desert." Tyrael began.

"I remember seeing reports from our scouts about that. 3 towns and a caravan were destroyed before we even noticed." Asheara put in.

"Just so. Daemon attacks." Tyrael continued. "We expected to find a Hellgate and some daemonic overlord, but it was far worse."

 _If it's bad enough to kill someone as powerful as Valla, then I'm not sure I want to know_ Asheara thought to herself.

Tyrael was silent for a moment, the veins on his temple working hard at whatever the man was going to say next.

"Tyrael, what did you find? If it was so powerful that not even Valla could handle it, I, no, Caldeum needs to know about it." Asheara prompted.

"Captain Asheara, first I must ask you a favour." Tyrael said, a hand on Valla's chest.

Unsure what to make of Tyrael's tone, Asheara merely nodded at his request.

Tyrael continued in a tone Asheara normally heard from confessing criminals. "I cannot lie. It goes against both my nature and my station, so I will need you to lie for me."

First confused and now worried, Asheara nodded again.

"I would like to hear you say it, Captain Asheara. The spoken word holds more power than most humans think."

"I am not sure what you want me to lie about, Tyrael, but I will do as you ask." _I practically owe you and Valla my life._

Tyrael sighed and stood away from the table. "It was no daemon or common monster that killed- that did it." Tyrael started.

"Nor was it one of the Lesser Evils or some mercenary. No, it was an angel. An Archangel of the High Heavens, Imperius, Aspect of Valour and commander of the Luminarii, guardians of the Crystal Arch."

"He used some daemonic tool he had devised, made from a sliver of the Worldstone under Mount Arreat, possibly under daemonic influence, and weakened Valla before making use of the situation. I was unable to stop him." Tyrael said.

Asheara stood in stunned silence. Many of the words and names she had heard before but only in whispered stories and fairy-tales.

"Are you ill, Asheara?" Tyrael asked after a moment had passed.

"Nay, but I think I'll have a headache soon enough. Angels? Mount Arreat? I have heard of these things, damn, they were in the fairy-tales my mother told me when I was a kid, when my father wasn't beating training exercises into me." Asheara said and sat down.

"I assure you; it is nothing but the truth." Tyrael's face took on a pained expression, "But in this instance, I believe the truth would not serve us well.

Asheara's mind whirled. "The angels in the stories are always on our side. If one of them killed Valla, then some would see it as a punishment from the Heavens."

"One might say it is." Tyrael said quietly.

Asheara paused for a second. "You're going to have to explain that to me later. So, what now? Where will you go? Do you want a coach to take you out of the city unseen? If you wrap her up again, I doubt anyone would look twice, and if they did, their curiosity would not be about the identity of the corpse."

"No, I do not want to skulk out of town like some common thief laden with plunder. Valla would not have wanted that either." Tyrael said.

"I think she rather would. She was a smart lass." Asheara interjected.

Tyrael's glare silenced her. "The world needs to know that the Nephalem is dead, so it can prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Asheara said, a slight shiver passing through her.

"I cannot believe that the Nine Hells will sit idly by until a new champion arises to protect Sanctuary like Valla did. We may well face another invasion."

Asheara wanted to scoff at him, but the man had a way of making any suspicion sound deeply credible. "So, Tyrael, what is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to tell your men and the people of this city that a great daemon killed Valla." Tyrael said, looking pained as he did so.

"Not an angel." Asheara said.

"Indeed. Even if it is the truth, I do not think the truth will aid us for the time being."

"And what do I get in return?" Asheara asked, rubbing thumb and forefinger together in a gesture customary for traders and mercenaries everywhere.

Tyrael was still for a moment, his mouth hanging slack jawed. "The safety and security of Sanctuary is in peril, and you're asking for payment?"

"Relax Tyrael, I was only joking. Old mercenary habits. You and Valla saved this city, we owe you a great deal." Asheara put a hand on her chest and met Tyrael's eyes. "You will have the help of me and my Iron Wolves, I swear it."

Tyrael's expression softened. "Furthermore, I wish to entrust the body of Valla into the care of the Palace. I have some urgent business that cannot wait, and I cannot bring the Nephalem."

"Very well, I will ensure the Palace's physicians don't get too curious. Wait here, I will bring a coach, and by the looks of you, a meal as well. When did you last eat, Tyrael?"

Asheara was surprised to find Tyrael suddenly unwilling to meet her gaze. "I have a tendency to forget to attend to such needs. It is, uh, still a new thing to me."

"Such needs? A new thing?" Asheara was flabbergasted.

Tyrael tried to stand but shaky legs failed the man and he fell back into the wooden chair.

"Tyrael!" Asheara rushed around the table, putting a hand on the man's shoulder.

He was shaking and gasping for breath. "I am fine, there is no need to worry."

"Tyrael, you can barely stand." Asheara said.

"I WILL be fine, then. Let us get Valla out of this room as soon as possible." Tyrael said.

"You will be fine staying here. Don't make me lock the door." Asheara said with authority and walked out the door, trusting that the man would be sensible.

Asheara instructed the guards to not let anyone in or out, but if Tyrael wanted to force his way out, not to resist him. She trusted in her Iron Wolves, but Tyrael was clearly on a different level. At her command a coach was brought from the palace to the western gate, a hot meal and several full waterskins loaded on board. When Asheara carried in the tray, Tyrael was sat where she had left him, staring unblinking out of the small window in the room.

Tyrael started as she sat down the tray on what remained of the table. "Sorry Valla, I'll have to scoot you over a bit." Asheara said jokingly.

"Eat up, Tyrael." She said when he just looked at the steaming bowl of soup for moments without moving or speaking.

He hurriedly picked up the spoon, looking for all the world like a child being told what to do. "Ah, sorry, it is still sometimes difficult to remember how."

Asheara wondered what he meant as Tyrael began eating, but she figured it could wait.

"Send in the palace physicians." She told the guards that still waited outside. "And once the coach leaves, you two are free to leave. I'm sure your next shift is anxious to start."

The two white-robed men from the palace arrived in short order, a stretcher between them. But as soon as they had placed the stretcher on the floor and began to shift Valla's body, Asheara making sure the veil was securely in place, there was a clatter of metal and Tyrael's gloved hand rested gently but securely on the forearm of the closest man, the remains of his meal on the floor of the room.

"Do not touch her." He said, his voice calm in the way of a fighter before a battle.

Asheara stepped in and put a hand on Tyrael's shoulder. "Tyrael, they're here to help. The sooner we can get her to a cool place, the longer we have to bury her properly."

The stare that Tyrael returned unnerved Asheara but she forced herself to not reach for the hilt of her sword, to keep calm. "Very well. Let us leave right away then." He said and threw away the empty waterskin in his other hand. The physicians gave Asheara a confused look as Tyrael lifted Valla's body by himself, leaving their stretcher behind, but she simply motioned for them to follow him and did so herself, the palace tray under her arm.

The guards looked hopeful as the procession left the small room. Asheara stopped for a moment and looked both in the eye. "Clean up, **then** you can change the shift."

With Tyrael deigning to let the physicians carry Valla, she was placed in the bottom of the coach, out of sight of people on the street. For all they would know, it was just another coach on palace business.

Tyrael continued his soul-searching through the window even in the coach. The physicians and Asheara sat opposite the man, looking at each other in the uncomfortable silence as the coach rolled along the streets.

"For what it's worth, Tyrael." Asheara started, trying to break the silence. "You and yours really helped our city."

Tyrael looked away from the window, his dark eyes coming back from a thousand miles to look at her.

"Caldeum would not be the city it is today without your help. I hear children talking about you, more than they talk about my Wolves."

"They were both heroes, you know." Tyrael said quietly after a moment. "Far more than I."

"I know." Asheara said, though to her the whole band were heroes equally. She had always been surprised not to have heard of Tyrael before he showed up alongside Valla and Leah to save the Iron Wolves from an ambush. His armour and shining sword alone should spread stories far and wide.

She was about to say another word when the coach jolted and stopped, everyone inside bracing against the interior to avoid being knocked over.

"Illam! Explain yourself, what in the Nine Hells!?" Asheara banged on the wall behind her and shouted once the jolts had settled down.

"A thousand apologies, captain Asheara, but there is someone blocking the road!" Illam the coach driver shouted back. There was a tinge of fear in his voice. The man was a former Iron Wolf, so anything that would make him nervous required Asheara's attention.

"Stay in here, I'll see what this is about." Asheara said, grabbing hold of the handle of her sword and exiting the coach.

A man stood in the road, clutching his left arm that was dripping blood onto the dirt. A trail was clearly visible leading to an upper terrace visible from the coach. His face was a grimace and the way his head moved unnerved Asheara. It was twitching like an insect.

"Move aside! This is Palace business!" She shouted. The whole square stopped in place and looked at the coach. _So much for subtlety._ Asheara thought to herself.

The man jittered in place and stepped forward; his eyes locked on the coach. "Please, you have to help me. Please!" He sounded in extreme pain.

 _Do I tell him we have physicians in the coach? Does he already know that?_ "Step aside and I will ensure you get help. Now move aside!" Asheara shouted again.

Again, the man stepped forward. He still had not spared Asheara even a glance. "Please!"

"Is your hearing as pained as your arm." Asheara grumbled, drew her sword and grabbed the man by his collar, lifting him up. "Did you not hear what I said."

The man's eyes switched, quick as lightning, to look Asheara in the eye, and what she saw there made her flush with sweat. "Leave us mortal." The voice was different, deeper and harsher and unlike any human Asheara had ever heard.

Before she could step away the man screamed in pain and his back arched, four segmented chitinous legs erupting from his back in an explosion of blood. More blood spilled down the sides of the man's head as his face ripped open, revealing a set of pus-coloured eyes faceted like that of a fly. With a cry of disgust Asheara tried to step away but the segmented legs wrapped around behind her, preventing any retreat. Despite still being caught in its throes of transformation, the daemon was trying to keep her close. She did not intend to find out for what. She placed the tip of her sword against its human abdomen and pushed, the sharp blade finding little resistance. The creature gasped but did not relent its grip, so she let go of its collar and thrust her hand into its open stomach, and with an arcane shout, discharging a thunderclap in its innards. The creature flew back a metre before landing in a bloody heap in the dirt, the segmented limbs curling around it like a dead spider. Asheara's focus withdrew from the immediate battle and she heard the screams and shouts all around her. Hers had not been the only assailant. Many creatures had transformed around the square, fighting guardsman and slaughtering traders with their spikes and blades. Even as she watched, a guardsman across the square impaled the creature facing him, only for it to grin with an impossibly wide mouth and crush his helmet and head with a massive claw.

"Daemons!" Asheara shouted, wishing she had brought her battle gear rather than her captain's uniform. The closest guards that had survived the initial transformations forming up around her with their shields and spears at the ready.

"You two," Asheara started and clapped their helmets, "Run to the nearest guardhouse and sound the alarm, then return here with as many guards as they can spare. Hurry!"

With those two away, Asheara hurried to the coach and flung the door open. The physicians were as pale as the white robes they wore, but Tyrael sat calmly with his shining sword in his lap. "What has happened? Are you injured, Captain Asheara?"

"It's not my blood." She responded and climbed the first step quickly. "Daemons are using the populace to attack the city, somehow. Cultists might be at work. We need to get you and the coach to the palace as quickly as we can."

Tyrael simply looked at Valla during Asheara's report. "If there are daemons, I am dutybound to fight them."

"Tyrael, my Iron Wolves can handle it." Asheara said. "You don't have to fight."

"It is not a matter of choice. Their presence here and now cannot be a coincidence." The dark man said and rose from his seat.

"At least let the coach move on to the Palace." Asheara said while Tyrael walked past her out of the coach.

Tyrael simply nodded at her, pulling his cloak back over his shoulders to reveal his gleaming armour. _How does he keep that so clean in this place?_ Asheara wondered as she ordered the coach to move and her nearest guardsmen to ensure its safe travel.

In the meantime, the murderous brawl in the square had turned into a losing battle, the corpses of Asheara's guards piling up. The daemons too had taken many losses, but they seemed undeterred, slashing and clawing at their opponents with the usual abandon of their kind. As Tyrael and Asheara moved towards the battle the remaining guards were being pushed back, the daemons slowly surrounding them. With a shout in some language Asheara could not understand, Tyrael raised his shining sword and charged, leaping past a horrified guard and decapitating the bull-like daemon opposite him in a single swing. The lifeless body had barely fallen to the ground before the blood had vanished from Tyrael's sword with a hiss.

 _Do I wish I had a sword like that_. Asheara thought to herself as she dodged and slashed at a tentacle from another daemon, her falchion cutting the pink skin. The guard at her side shouted praise to Caldeum as he stepped in and put his spear through the daemon's abdomen, only for his praise to turn to curses as the daemon's abdomen opened into a toothy maw and snapped his spear in two. Before Asheara could react, the tentacle whipped back and across the guard's face, the man crying out and the guard fell back, his hands clutched to his face and blood pouring out between his fingers.

Cursing herself, Asheara thrust her palm forward and released a stream of fire. The daemon's skin caught immediately, and it fell back shrieking in agony but before Asheara could move in to finish it off, a daemon with a horse's body growing out beneath a groaning man's torso kicked her square in the chest, sending her flying back into a pile of bodies, daemonic and human. The savage kick had knocked the air out of her, and she desperately gulped down air as the grotesque centaur moved closer. She held her falchion out in front of her as best she could despite her aching chest, but she could not hold it back for long, her falchion kicked out of her hands and away by another kick from the creature's hooves. But before it could strike again a shining blade sheared the leg off at the knee, parting the flesh and bone like it was not there at all. Tyrael bull-rushed the daemon as it reared up, his shining sword slicing it apart with ease. Its smoking corpse hit the dirt and Tyrael extended an arm to Asheara.

"I had it, Tyrael. I was just about to finish it off." She said and accepted the hand. Even with her weapons and uniform, Tyrael lifted her with ease.

"I have no doubt about that, Captain Asheara." He said with as much of a smirk as Asheara had ever seen on him.

Tyrael pointed across the battlefield with his sword. The battle in the square was still on and the guards were definitely losing, but the daemons were not pushing their line as hard as Asheara would expect. She had never known the vile creatures to relent.

"What's going on, Tyrael?"

His sword dipped a finger's breadth, pointing at the dirt in the centre of the square. _No_ , Asheara thought quickly, _Not relenting, working._ In the centre of the square the bodies of the dead guards were being piled up by a few bull-like daemons, arranged in a huge circle of blood and guts.

"A summoning circle." Tyrael said with a hint of dread. "They mean to open a gate to the Nine Hells, bring an army."

"An army?" Asheara said. "We will need every guard in the city to combat that!"

"There is no time." Tyrael said and started off for the few guards still struggling in the square.

Most of the daemons were now working at some ritual, cavorting and chanting, ribbons of blood lifting up out of the corpses arrayed in the bloody square. Tyrael charged and skewered a bloated daemon that was about to bite a guard in half. The remaining guards cheered and formed up around the man, their weapons ready and pointed out at the daemons moving towards them. Torn between helping and calling for reinforcements, Asheara watched as a spell impacted with Tyrael's armour. Four huge, spiny legs held the spellcaster aloft, the host's remaining legs dangling uselessly beneath it like a grotesque belt. Tyrael rising to his feet, the two clashed in the middle of the melee. The segmented legs of the daemon stabbed and poked at Tyrael while the grinning daemon suspended above slung bolts of magic at him.

Cursing her luck for bringing such a tragedy onto her city, Asheara sheathed her blade and began chanting her own spell. As her fingers worked and the phrases of the spell left her lips her hair began standing away from her skin, the crackle of energy and ozone in the air growing. Power coursed through her body, begging to be released before it became too much.

"Tyrael, get away!" Asheara shouted as the spell completed, holding her stance to contain the energy the spell had built up.

With a grunt of effort, Tyrael shoved the segmented limbs aside and hopped back. The daemon turned around with that arrogant smile on its hideous face before Asheara thrust her arms forward, discharging a massive arc of lightning across the square. The segmented body locked in place and then spasmed as its being was suffused with deadly energy, it's borrowed body destroyed in seconds and it dropped to the ground.

"The circle! Destroy the circle!" Tyrael shouted as he scrambled to his feet.

"No need, Tyrael" Asheara said, gasping for breath from the exertions of the spell, "No need."

In the centre of the square, smoke was drifting out of the open mouths of the corpses of the daemons, Asheara's spell using the first daemon as a link in a deadly chain.

Asheara could count the surviving guards on the fingers of one hand and she herself was covered in dirt, gore and other fluids from the mangled bodies of the daemons. If not for the spatters of blood on his armour, Tyrael looked like he had been in a procession, not a battle to the death. As if emerging from thought, he began walking and looked over at Asheara.

"We must hurry, the daemons could launch another attack."

She took a deep breath and did her best to reply. "Why would they attack again? Why not just attack in one big force?"

Tyrael sheathed his sword somewhere inside his cloak and started down the road out of the square towards the city palace visible in the distance. Asheara felt like she had no option but to follow.

Ordering the surviving guards to clean up with the help of the reinforcements, Asheara followed Tyrael the rest of the way to the palace. Out of something between caution or paranoia they ran towards any sudden shouts they heard on the way, but no daemons presented themselves, only woman with broken pottery or men with hammer-bludgeoned fingers. The physicians awaited them in the palace's infirmary that had been cleared out at Asheara's request. Now with the ambush by the daemons, she would need as much space in here as she could muster.

"We decided to delay the examination until your arrival, Captain Asheara." The senior physician said. A woman named Sherade, she had been a steady part of the palace staff even before Valla and Tyrael blazed through the city and the palace. Her greying hair was set in a tight bun which, along with the glass lenses set in a brass frame that she wore, gave her an air of authority that fit well with her great knowledge of her craft.

"Excellent call, doctor Sherade. This man was there when it happened, so we need not know how she died. We simply need her body to last while he," Asheara searched for words. Tyrael had not been very clear about what his business was. "Attends to some business."

That got a raised eyebrow from doctor Sherade, but Asheara could only shrug. That is all she knew. "Once you are finished here, I expect a lot of guards to come here. We had a daemon incursion not long ago."

The faces of the assembled physicians paled. "What happened?" Said Sherade.

"They appeared out of nowhere and attacked anyone present in the Alabaster Portium. Not many survived but I instructed my guards to bring any survivors here."

"The daemons attempted to open a gate to the Nine Hells, but we managed to defeat them before it was completed." Tyrael said. His metallic boots were loud against the tiled floor of the infirmary.

Sherade sighed and attempted to calm her colleagues, the two younger physicians clearly shaken by what they had heard. "So, the city is safe?"

"On the way here, I sent messengers to every guardhouse in the city. Should the daemons strike again, the Iron Wolves will be ready to meet them." Asheara said. She resisted the impulse to affect the old salute of her company.

"Good, that is good." Sherade said and approached the operating table, a simple raised marble slab in the centre of the infirmary. Valla had been placed there and unwrapped. It struck Asheara that this was the first time she had seen the daemon huntress in nearly a year. Even in death, Valla had an impressive air about her and a calm expression that looked ready to turn serious at any moment.

"Now, you will be welcome to stay if you so wish, but we will not make any efforts to wake you up if the sights of the embalming prove too much for you." Sherade said and picked up a metal tool from a container in the side of the table.

"Embalming?" Tyrael said with sudden confusion in his voice.

"Captain Asheara, if you would instruct your guest in what that entails, I would like to begin." Sherade said, looking at the two of them over the room of her operating lenses.

Before Asheara could turn to Tyrael the man had stormed up to the operating table.

"I requested that the palace keep her safe, not cut her open." He said, both hands placed against the edge of the operating table.

Sherade kept her ground even when "With all due respect sir, if the palace is to keep a corpse-"

Asheara only just managed to step in and stop the debate escalating when Tyrael stepped back and moved to draw his sword in the middle of doctor Sherade's sentence.

"Tyrael! Calm yourself!" Asheara said and moved to stand between him and the physicians, Sherade still having not moved even an inch from her position, a fact which both impressed and frightened Asheara a little.

"Doctor Sherade is an experienced physician, she knows what she is talking about. Valla cannot simply stay here as she is."

Tyrael stood with a hand on the hilt of his sword but had yet to draw. "I will not allow the Nephalem to come to any further harm."

 _What?_ "Tyrael, Valla is dead! She cannot come to any further harm." Asheara said.

With a grimace Tyrael drew his sword an inch, but then stopped. Her back to the operating table, Asheara could only hear the gasps of the others in the room and see the golden glow that now shone on every surface in the room. The walls of the infirmary were polished sandstone and the floors were similarly a pale wood brought from the deep desert. Both now looked like matte gold.

"What in the name of…" She heard Sherade say. Tyrael said nothing, simply let go of his sword and walked past Asheara to the table.

Turning about, Asheara was equally dumbfounded. Valla's corpse was still on the table, but the traits of expression that the captain had attributed to her were now gone. Valla's corpse was just that now. But above her a golden sphere hovered, not solid but like a ball of pure, golden energy. Small flecks emerged from the surface only to trace an orbit around the orb to eventually merge again with the orb.

This time Tyrael drew his shining sword fully. "Daemon trickery!" He roared and struck, the sword sweeping through the air before anyone in the room had truly registered that he had drawn. A crack of energy and sound assaulted the occupants of the room and the sword flew from Tyrael's hand to clatter against the far wall. The man stood stunned with empty hands for a moment before collapsing to his knees.

"I was mistaken. It is no daemon." A shaky finger pointed at the golden sphere. "That is Valla's soul. The soul of the Nephalem."


	6. Cause of War Part 1

_[ this is not the full chapter, just a taster so the story doesn't look as dead. hopefully i'll be updating the story every few weeks now ]_

The room was still in the wake of Tyrael's proclamation. The golden orb floated serenely above Valla's cold body, utterly unchanged from being struck with _El'druin_.

"A soul?" Sherade said with some amount of confusion. The woman approached the ball with an outstretched hand.

Tyrael had felt the immense power roiling within that sphere. "No, don't!"

He surged forward but before he could hold her back, the doctor had laid her hand on the surface of the golden orb. Excepting the woman to recoil in agony or shoot back like he had, Tyrael hurried to her side.

"Most peculiar." Doctor Sherade stood as calm as ever, her hands moving through the roiling energies of the orb as if it was just a bowl of water.

"In all my years as a physician I have never seen a soul, even if I lost the patient." She withdrew her hand and simply looked at it for a moment, as if examining a leaf in autumn. "I guess I was expecting more."

Tyrael stood dumbfounded beside her. Even from this distance he could feel the energies contained within and was afraid of what would happen was he to touch it again.

"You should feel grateful for your lack of magical potential, Doctor Sherade." Captain Asheara said. The hard woman's eyes were fixed on the sphere, her arms crossed guardedly across her chest.

"You sense it too?" Tyrael asked, relief and fear mingling in his voice.

"I do. That orb contains incredible amounts of power, more than I have ever felt in my life, even when-" Asheara's voice faltered for just a moment. "-Even when the Prime Evils came to Kurast."

Tyrael thought back to that year, the first time Sanctuary had nearly fallen to the Nine Hells. The Prime Evils had walked together for a brief time, until their pursuers had caught them in the swamps of Kurast. The Lord of Hatred, in his arrogance, stayed behind to fight and was imprisoned again. Asheara had been there in the swamps when the Prime Evils came and had helped the pursuers navigate the treacherous wetlands. She knew the power of those daemons far better than most other mortal still alive.

Doctor Sherade took a step back, holding her hand like it had been scalded. Tyrael picked up his sword and walked to Asheara's side. "I believe this is why the daemons attacked your city so brazenly, Captain Asheara. They were drawn to this, to the soul of the Nephalem."

"I believe you are right, Tyrael." Asheara sighed deeply. "It cannot stay here. If the daemons attack with a larger force, we would not be able to stop them."

"Our city is strong, captain!" One of the chirurgeons shouted, fist raised in the air.

"Shut up, you young buck." Asheara retorted. Stepping away from Tyrael, she pointedly prodded the chirurgeon in the chest, forcing the young man back a step. "I am of the Iron Wolves. I hate weakness as much as any of my men, but the daemons are unlike any army in this world. We are not Bastion's Keep."

Doctor Sherade stepped to the side of her assistant. "I apologise for his outburst, Captain Asheara. It will not happen again."

"Good. Let my men fight the battles, young man, you and yours patch us up afterwards." Asheara said.

"But I stand by my words, Tyrael."

Tyrael looked her in the eye. "It cannot stay here." Asheara repeated.

"I know, captain Asheara, I know. However." Tyrael said and approached the orb. He reached out for it but before his hand touched the roiling surface, a golden arc of energy leapt from the orb to his finger. Tyrael backed away quickly and Asheara thought she saw a twinge in his expression. The orb had not moved an inch.

"I cannot move it by my own power, it would seem." Tyrael said.

With some trepidation Asheara reached out too. No arc of energy leapt at her hand but touching it, even through her leather gloves, was like holding her hand to a hotplate. With a grunt of effort, she moved it half a foot before she had to back off.

"Captain!" Sherade cried out. The surgeon carefully removed Asheara's glove but to the amazement, and some measure of relief, of both, her hand was unharmed. The pain still tingled but her flesh was not scorched.

"So, none of us can feasibly move it." Tyrael said

There was a moment of silence.

"As Captain of the Guard, it is my duty to look after my men and the citizens of Caldeum. We could hold against an assault by an army, maybe even the daemons." Asheara said.

Tyrael kept his silence.

"But the daemons will not stop, not after one single assault, and never for this prize."

Asheara turned and looked Tyrael in the eye. Her eyes were stern. "I cannot doom my city for this, Tyrael. I hope you understand."

Tyrael nodded in reply. The sphere still hovered where it had emerged, covering the room in its gentle radiance.

"Ahem."

The assembled room stopped and looked to the door. A guard stood fresh from the street, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for the disturbance, Captain."

"I assume the disturbance has a reason." Asheara said pointedly and put her leather glove back on.

"Ah, yes. There is a caravan at the western gate. They say they're looking for Master Tyrael." The guard said.

Asheara turned to Tyrael. The man looked about as confused as she. "Were you expecting guests, Tyrael?"

"I was not. It was not out of secrecy, but I did not tell anyone I was going for Caldeum." Tyrael responded. His gaze flickered to the floating orb.

"They call themselves the horadim? Horalim?" The guard said, struggling with the last word.

Tyrael's face brightened. "The Horadrim." The guard made to speak but Tyrael continued.

"If it truly is the Horadrim, they will be a great help to us."

"But the Horadrim were destroyed years ago." Doctor Sherade said in disbelief. Asheara had been about to say the same. She had not known the palace's chief physician knew anything about such matters.

"I know, I was there. It was reborn after," Tyrael paused, "After the Nephalem returned from the last war against the Nine Hells. I will concede that they are less, ah, scholarly now." Tyrael said.

He looked to the guardsman, who was looking anxious to leave. "I cannot leave here, but if you would bring someone here to represent them, they would be guests of the palace, just like I." Tyrael said, looking at Captain Asheara.

She sighed and gave her consent.


	7. Cause of War Part 2

The guardsman returned after a short while with three people in tow. They were all dressed similarly, brown and dark red robes with gold filigree, protected with functional metal armour. The two in the back kept their hoods up and their hands in their robes. The Horadrim in the middle of the trio stepped forwards and lowered his hood. He was an older man, face leathery with age, but his green eyes were as clear as any younger man. On his cloak he bore a gold pin of tendrils coiling around themselves, encircling a bestial eye.

"Arcanist Vaisoris! It is truly good to see you." Tyrael said with an energy Asheara had not heard from the man since his arrival in the city.

The older man smiled back and clasped Tyrael's hand firmly. "Likewise, old friend. It feels like years and years since our last meeting."

"Indeed, it does." Tyrael said, the joy fading from his face.

"If only it could be under, ah, happier circumstances." Vaisoris said, looking at the table in the middle of the room.

One of the Horadrim stepped past Tyrael and Vaisoris to the side of the table holding Valla's body and drew back their hood. A thick braid of white hair dangled from a face covered the scars of battle, the expression a blend of anger and sadness.

"Who could have done this to you, Valla? How?" The woman said.

Captain Asheara asked Doctor Sherade to leave. There would be no need for the physicians just yet.

"I wish I could say it was some daemon, some vile beast." Tyrael said, his tone growing darker.

"But no, it was my kin that did this." He continued. The Horadrims' attention was fixed on Tyrael.

"It was Imperius. Imperius murdered the Nephalem."

All three Horadrim gasped.

"The Archangel of Valour?" Vaisoris asked. Asheara silently added the rest of the titles Tyrael had listed in her head.

"It pains me greatly to say it, but yes." Tyrael said.

"What happened?" The woman Horadrim asked. She was holding onto the slab with a white-knuckled hand.

Tyrael recounted what he had told Asheara earlier in the day, then expanded with the events of the day, with the daemon attack in the square.

"And I am certain this is the reason for the daemon attack." Tyrael said and indicated the floating sphere.

Vaisoris made an appreciative noise and approached the orb.

"My lord, I would not carelessly touch it." Asheara said. She would show them her hand, but there were no physical marks of the pain that still tingled.

"Indeed, the energies within are not well contained." Tyrael added.

"What is it?" Vaisoris asked, though his tone did not seem very questioning to Asheara.

"I believe it to be the Nephalem's soul. Not her ghost." Tyrael responded. He too seemed to have noticed something amiss in Vaisoris' tone. A chill went down Asheara's spine. How would Tyrael take that? He had clearly been shook by Valla's death.

The room grew tense while Vaisoris stepped closer to the central table, examining the orb. He had a slight smile on his face.

"Vaisoris, what is the meaning of this?" Tyrael said. He had one hand on the hilt of his sword. The woman Horadrim stepped between the armoured man and Vaisoris with a wary look on her face.

"Whatever do you mean, old friend?" Vaisoris said. His smile only grew wider.

Asheara was at Tyrael's side before he could draw his sword. "Please, my lord Vaisoris," She said, looking at the elderly arcanist, "Do not toy with us. It has been a long day for me, and far longer for lord Tyrael."

Tyrael bristled behind her. Vaisoris looked at her and the smile gave way to a more serious look.

"Ah, my apologies to both of you. It is just, ah, Tyrael is usually the one with the crucial knowledge and I simply wished to turn the tables, even for a moment." Vaisoris said.

The smile faded and the older man walked past his bodyguard and knelt in front of Tyrael. "I serve the Horadrim, and I serve you, Tyrael, Lord of Justice and Wisdom. If I have cast doubt on that fact, then I will endeavour to prove my loyalty over the coming days." Vaisoris said. His tone reminded Asheara of some of the many supplicants that came to the palace every week. Reverential.

Asheara heard a shuffling of armour behind her and Tyrael stepped past her and placed a gloved hand on the older man's head. "I will hold you to that promise, Arcanist Vaisoris Galaren. Now stand."

Tyrael continued as Vaisoris got to his feet with a little help. "But I must apologise too. As the Captain said, it has been a trying time."

"I can only imagine." Vaisoris said. "But I should be forthright. I did not know the details, but the larger picture was known to me the moment I set forth for Caldeum."

"How are you here, Vaisoris? How did you know to find me?" Tyrael said.

"As for your location, the First Ones have their ways." Vaisoris said and placed a scroll-case from his belt in Tyrael's hand. In it was a fine vellum scroll with two sections of text. One seemed to Asheara to be a poem and the following a more ordinary text.

"This is a transcript of a tablet found in the ruins of Secheron. It is a prophecy, the First Ones believe, that tells of the events we are regretfully witnessing." Vaisoris continued and indicated Valla's body.

"I have not heard of this prophecy before." Tyrael said.

"We believed it would be difficult for you to believe that one of your own kind would take such action." Vaisoris said.

 _His own kind? But he said an angel killed Valla._ Asheara thought.

Tyrael grimaced at that and looked to the scroll.

"In the Time of the Fall of Death,

The Valor of the Heavens

Will fall upon the Greatest of Sanctuary.

They will fall and rise anew.

And their Essence will spark the Eternal War anew,

And the Fate of Sanctuary will be found in the Shattered Mountain."

Tyrael rolled the scroll back up and handed it back.

"I'm sure you can see the connections. The Order has been preparing in some secret since the Reapers attacked Sanctuary." Vaisoris said.

"So, all the time I spent with Valla on the road." Tyrael said quietly.

"It pains me to say it, but yes." Vaisoris said.

The room grew quiet.

"But it means you're ready, correct? You prepared for this." Asheara said.

"Based on what we gleaned from the prophecy, yes. And seeing the reality of the events," Vaisoris said and approached the golden sphere, "I believe we have what is needed."

The Horadrim returned, Vaisoris in front, the woman and the other Horadrim carrying a metallic cage between them on poles. Cage was the first word that came to Asheara's mind, but in truth it was more like an ornamental lantern casing. The metal had been shaped in intricate patterns that repeated on all the sides of the cage. Only the top and bottom were different. Those were like a starfield of crystals and precious gems. She could see both the craftsmanship and the artistry that had gone into its construction but also the cost. The Horadrim had put a lot of resources into this.

It was placed on the floor of the room while four more Horadrim filed in in the same robes as Arcanist Vaisoris. They bowed to Tyrael but said nothing, simply standing in a small group to the side.

The remaining Horadrim that had originally entered with Vaisoris lowered their hood. It was a man, his skin a similar colour to Tyraels. Asheara recognised his accent as being from Kurast but it was a blend of many places throughout the region.

"This Soul Cage was designed to hold a powerful soul. It has similarities to a Soulstone but requires no physical connection with the body to contain the energies." The man explained as he examined the patterns and gems-settings.

"It will allow us to transport the soul on our journey." He continued.

"Our journey?" Tyrael said. The man stopped in his work briefly and looked to Vaisoris.

"As the prophecy says, 'the fate of sanctuary will be found in the shattered mountain'. Of the broken peaks of Sanctuary, one stands out from the rest both in pedigree and historical importance." Vaisoris said when prompted.

"Mount Arreat." Tyrael said, a pained expression crossing his features.

"Fate does indeed seem to pull a great many things to the caldera of that ancient mountain, as it keeps pulling you there." Vaisoris said.

"Indeed." Tyrael said with a sigh.

"The cage has not been impacted by the transport, Arcanist, we can proceed when required." The kneeling Horadrim said.

"Very well, Karim." Vaisoris said, then he turned towards Tyrael.

"We intend to place the soul in the cage so we can transport it, whatever may happen at Mount Arreat. The Horadrim believe this to be the clear course of action." He continued.

Tyrael's expression soured when he looked at the metal contraption. Asheara would have to confess that she did not like the concept of caging Valla's soul any more than he did.

"The Soul Cage is perfectly safe, my Lord," Karim said, "We blended the techniques for the Horadrim Cube and the ancient Soulstones for its creation."

"It is not safety I am concerned with." Tyrael said with a sigh.

"Cullen and Thomas both personally vouched for it." Vaisoris said.

Tyrael looked to the glowing orb.

"Tyrael, what would Valla do?" Asheara said.

Tyrael looked in Asheara's direction but seemed not to be looking at her, but then the briefest of smiles crossed his face. "She would ask for my counsel."

"We cannot afford to give our enemies any more time than we already have. Arcanist Vaisoris, you have my blessing." Tyrael said, the dour expression returned.

Vaisoris nodded gladly and instructed his men to commence. Karim and the female Horadrim held the Soul Cage while the four hooded Horadrim chanted and worked spells. At first there was no change, but then slowly but surely, the orb began to move, floating serenely into the metallic Cage until Karim closed the single hinged panel. Asheara saw no lock or handle. Instead, the four Horadrim continued with a different chant. After a few moments Karim tugged on the panel, clearly to his satisfaction.

"It is done." Karim declared.

"It can only be opened by the Horadrim now." Vaisoris said.

"We should depart for Mount Arreat as soon as possible." Tyrael said and turned to Asheara.

"Can the Horadrim stay within the city for the night? We leave at first light." Tyrael said.

"We have our own caravans, there is no need." Vaisoris said, both to Tyrael and Asheara.

"The city has already had one daemon attack since Tyrael arrived. There may well be more." Asheara said.

"I agree with Tyrael that it would be safest for all involved if you stayed within the city walls."

Vaisoris paled slightly when she mentioned the daemon attack, but it got him to agree. Behind the old arcanist, the female Horadrim grinned at the mention of the daemons.

The Horadrim left to gather their group inside the walls with instructions to tell the palace guards that Captain Asheara had given them leave to use one of the barracks. Tyrael sat in a chair in the operating room. To Asheara he looked ready to drop dead if he could not sleep soon.

Doctor Sherade entered the room cautiously. Asheara waved her in, and the physician's aides followed behind.

"We still need to prepare the body. I'm surprised it has survived this far already." Sherade said. Behind Asheara, Tyrael stirred from his half-slumber.

"Very well. I'll bring Lord Tyrael to the barracks. He can't have had much sleep over the last few days." Asheara said and approached Tyrael.

The man got out of his seat before she reached him, looking past her.

"What are you doing to Valla?" He said. It was not a question born of curiosity.

"Lord Tyrael, we need to prepare the body for burial. We cannot risk a source of disease inside the palace itself." Doctor Sherade said.

"I told you to leave her alone!" Tyrael roared and drew his shining sword with a ring of metal. Doctor Sherade gasped and tried to step away but Tyrael was far faster than the doctor. Fortunately, Asheara was fast enough, her scimitar colliding with _El'druin_. For a brief moment Asheara wondered if her weapon would hold, but the palace blacksmith had done a fine job.

"Tyrael!" Asheara shouted. "What are you doing!?"

"I will allow no further harm to come to the Nephalem!" Tyrael shouted and pushed against Asheara. Her sword creaked in response.

"Have you lost your mind!?" Asheara responded.

Tyrael did not respond, and instead he reared back and raised his sword.

"Valla is dead, Tyrael!"

"If you won't listen to me, think of Valla! Would she have wanted you to be like this?" Asheara shouted. If he struck again, that would be the end of her.

Tyrael's furious expression broke. "She- she asked me to protect her home." He said, almost imperceptibly.

Asheara hadn't heard the words but she could see on Tyrael's expression that the danger had passed.

 _El'druin_ clattered to the ground and Tyrael fell to his knees. Asheara stepped back, gratefully lowering her own weapon.

"Since she couldn't do it herself anymore." Tyrael said. The tiles beneath him sparkled with tears and the words were forced out between sobs, but all in the room heard them.

Dawn broke the following morning. The Horadrim were assembled by the western gate, the Soul Cage already placed in one of their wagons.

"I would never have imagined in my wildest nightmares that I would rise in the morning and wait around for Lord Tyrael of all people." Vaisoris said and sipped from his mug.

Asheara thought much the same. But she supposed that most people here, even the battle-scarred Horadrim woman from the day before had had plenty of sleep lately. Tyrael had not.

"Oh, here he comes." Vaisoris said with a chuckle.

The gleam of Tyrael's armour in the sunlight rivalled that of his sword. His determined expression only broke when he turned to Asheara to speak.

"Captain Asheara, I would ask a favour of you one last time." Tyrael said. He looked almost sheepish.

"Yes?" She responded, unsure of what else to say.

"I need to speak to Doctor Sherade one last time before we leave." Tyrael said.

He must have seen her reticence plain on her face. "I promise no ill will."

"Very well. Let's hurry, we don't want to keep your escort waiting overlong." Asheara said with a sigh.

They found Doctor Sherade in her office. On the way there they passed the operating room from the day before. It had been closed off, but Tyrael made no move to examine it further, simply followed along behind Asheara. He had left his sword in the Horadrim's care. The scholars had accepted the weapon like it was the holiest of relics.

The old physician greeted Asheara but started when Tyrael rounded the corner.

The man held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "This time I mean no ill will, Doctor Sherade, but I do not wish for Valla to be buried here in Caldeum. She should return to Tristram or to her Order, but not here."

Doctor Sherade took a step away as Tyrael started to speak but his tone seemed to reassure her somewhat. "Very well, it is your choice. We will keep her in the royal crypts till your return."

The physician looked to Captain Asheara. "I believe her service to the crown has earned her that much, in the very least."

"Thank you, Doctor Sherade. I apologise again for how I have acted. I was not myself." Tyrael said.

"Not to be blunt but I have seen it before. The loss of a loved one takes a hard toll on many, Lord Tyrael." Sherade said.

"The loss of a loved one." Tyrael mumbled to himself. Asheara only barely caught it.

"Thank you again, Doctor Sherade. We would best be off, daylight is burning." Tyrael said and left the chamber.

The Horadrim were much as they had left them. At Tyrael's approach a few of the younger ones cheered and all picked up their packs and final belongings and made ready to leave.

"All business concluded?" Vaisoris said with a chuckle.

"There is just one thing left." Tyrael said. His tone was light, but his expression was far from it.

"With all due respect, Lord Tyrael, I think the young ones might stage a mutiny if you delay them one more time." Vaisoris said.

"Not to worry, I won't hold them for long." Tyrael said and stepped past the old arcanist.

The assembled Horadrim drew closer, forming a half-circle around Tyrael. Asheara stood apart. She wanted to say her goodbyes to Tyrael before he left, but she was not Horadrim.

"Horadrim," Tyrael called out, "You know who I am. I cannot lie. I will not lie. This will be a trying time. Many will try to stop us, and not just the Nine Hells. I can scarce believe I owlud have to say this, but the forces of the High Heavens might well move against us as well."

"And that is why I am not coming with you on your journey."

The Horadrim exploded in shouts and cries. After a long moment they were brought to silence by the banging of metal on metal. The female Horadrim stood at Vaisoris' side, axe and shield in hand.

"Order, order!" Vaisoris shouted. "I am sure Lord Tyrael has some reason for this declaration!" The old man looked to Tyrael to continue.

"Imperius must answer for what he did. Before I became the Aspect of Wisdom, I was the Aspect of Justice. It is high time he remembers that." Tyrael said. He had drawn his sword in silence and held it by his side. The jewel on its handle glowed brightly.

"I go where only I can, to the High Heavens. I will ensure that they do not interfere with out quest." He finished.

The Horadrim were silent. Vaisoris cleared his throat.

"If that is your wish, Lord Tyrael. We will begin on the journey we discussed last night. I hope you will be able to join us along the way nonetheless." The arcanist said.

"As do I, Vaisoris. Safe travels and be well. I know I can entrust the Horadrim with this task in my absence."

Asheara stepped up beside Tyrael as the caravan began to move. "Tyrael, what was all that about?"

Tyrael met her gaze but said nothing.

"Aspect of Wisdom? Of Judgement," Asheara said, stumbling over the words, "Just what are you?"

"I believe," Tyrael said and took a step closer, "It would be easiest to show you."

Before Asheara could ask what he meant, Tyrael grasped her hand. Images flew past her eyes, things she had only heard of in stories and fairytales. The Eternal Conflict, the many nightmarish events of the infamous town of Tristram, the shattering of the Worldstone and Mount Arreat. Tyrael's fall from grace, and finally the travels with the Nephalem.

"I did not mean to keep it from you, Captain Asheara." Tyrael said.

"It is only that the Neph- that Valla advised me to not share my past carelessly."

"You're an angel." Asheara said. She could think of nothing else to say.

"Was. Now I am mortal, like you and the Horadrim. But that only doubles my responsibility and my duties. I must earn my place." Tyrael said.

Asheara moved to speak but Tyrael held up a hand.

"I am sure you have a legion of questions. I will return once all this is over, we can speak then. Till that time, Captain Asheara, this is farewell."

She waited in silence as Tyrael opened a glowing portal by the edge of the western gate of Caldeum and stepped through, leaving the world of mortals. Asheara hoped it would not be for good.


	8. Council's End

The Diamond Gates towered over Tyrael as he stepped through the angelic portal and into the High Heavens. Up ahead, sentries rushed to report his appearance and confront him. Though he accepted his mortality now, he was saddened that this was how his arrivals would be greeted in the future.

With a mighty groan the massive gates opened and disgorged a squadron of angelic soldiers.

"Lord Tyrael!" The lead angel called out at his approach. Each angel held a spear, their tendril-like wings splayed out behind them. Hoods concealed their lack of facial features. Tyrael had millennia of knowledge and experience in telling angels apart, otherwise he imagined he would have the same trouble as any mortal.

"Ah, Linarel. It is good to see you are well." Tyrael said.

Linarel stood up straighter at the mention of his name. "The same to you, Lord Tyrael. What brings you to the Gates?"

 _Ah, so the younger angels are not as distrusting of me_. Tyrael thought.

"I see no reason to beat about the bush." Tyrael said. When the assembled angels did not respond, he continued.

"I wish to assemble the Angiris Council."

The squadron looked to Linarel.

"Lord Imperius is not in the Silver City at the moment." Linarel said.

"If Auriel and Itherael will have me, we will simply have the Council without him." Tyrael said, trying to keep his disdain out of his voice. Imperius and he had once been brothers in arms. How long ago that seemed now.

Linarel looked at Tyrael for a moment before speaking. "I can admit you into the Silver City, but I cannot let you walk freely. I am sorry."

"There is no need for apologies, Linarel. It was not your decision." Tyrael said.

"Thank you, my lord. I will escort you to the council chambers. That is all I can do." Linarel said and shouted at the sentries on the ramparts.

Tyrael waited patiently as the Diamond Gates opened and Linarel and his squadron escorted him into the Silver City.

Caldeum was a beautiful city, but it was so by mortal standards. The Silver City was to Caldeum as a precious jewel was to an interesting rock found on a beach. Wide thoroughfares glittered in the light that shone down from above, winding between spires tall enough to breach the clouds and glass-domed gardens brimming with flowers. The Diamond Gates admitted one to the central section of the City; surrounding it would be the domains of the various Archangels. Tyrael was silently thankful that their path would cross neither the Courts of Justice nor the Halls of Valor.

As Tyrael walked with Linarel he observed many angels standing apart from the small procession, only very few making any effort to approach and greet him.

"I feel I should ask for forgiveness for my many kindred." Linarel said after one particularly large group of angels that kept their distance.

"Is it Imperius that has soured them against me?" Tyrael asked.

"It saddens me greatly that not only should one Archangel think that of another, but also that he would be correct." Linarel said. His wings flowed uneasily as he spoke.

"Imperius has begun speaking of the eradication of Sanctuary, that humanity should be destroyed." Linarel said. They followed the curve of the thoroughfare and the Silver Spire emerged between two great spires, commanding the centre of the Silver City. At its peak was the Crystal Arch, and it is also where the Angiris Council holds its sessions.

"He did much the same over a millennia ago." Tyrael said.

"That may be so," Linarel said, "But now he is not saying it in the chambers of the Council but to the Angelic Host at large, journeying to each Domain to speak his cause. And he is calling you dangerous, Lord Tyrael, for sympathising and working with the humans."

"You do not share his views, Linarel?" Tyrael said, though his mind was focused on the council session he hoped to carry out.

"Imperius has not been himself after Diablo attacked the Silver City, and his current actions display that more than ever before. They do not promote the order and harmony of the High Heavens." Linarel said.

"Quite." Tyrael responded.

At the foot of the grand stairway into the Silver Spire, Linarel gave Tyrael over to the guards there. They were less talkative, and Tyrael simply waited while the Calling Bell for the Angiris Council was tolled. An enormous bell of clear crystal, it could be heard throughout all of the Silver City. Malthael himself had cut it millennia ago.

Though the wait felt like hours to Tyrael, time was a nebulous concept in the Silver City where night did not fall, and angels did not age. Eventually Tyrael spotted a group of angels descending on wings from the Gardens of Hope. In their midst was Auriel, with the Cord of Hope, _Al'maiesh,_ suspended in the air around her. All the angels present beheld the arriving Archangel with awe, a feeling Tyrael knew he had evoked before his self-imposed transformation.

"Hail, Auriel, it has been too long since our last meeting." Tyrael called out.

"Truly it is so." Auriel responded, bowing before Tyrael. He did the same.

"How have the High Heavens fared over the last few months?" Tyrael asked.

"Many angels have come to dwell in the Gardens of Hope in recent times. The Pools of Wisdom are still, and the Courts sit without a lord. The light of the Crystal Arch appears dimmer than it did even during the darkest days of the Sin War." Auriel said while looking over the spectacle of the Silver City visible from the Spire's stairway.

"I wish it was not so, but my heart takes me away from the Silver City and ignoring one's own heart is folly." Tyrael said in response.

"Such is the challenge of mortality, I suppose," Auriel said with a sigh, "But you alone are not to blame, Tyrael. The Council is split, and I fear it will never again be mended."

"I fear you are only too right in that, Lady Auriel." Tyrael said.

As they spoke, a procession arrived from the great Library of Fate, Itherael at the forefront, discussing some matter with his fellow angels. It seemed to Tyrael that the Archangel of Fate had not brought _Talus'ar_ with him. Perhaps he did not feel that the Scroll of Fate would be necessary for a session of the Council.

"Tyrael." Itherael said and walked past him and Auriel, entering the Spire.

"Itherael." Tyrael said, acknowledging him in turn.

"I fear it has been nearly as long since I last saw Itherael as when I last saw you, Tyrael. Itherael spends his time in his Library of late." Auriel said. Just as Tyrael and Imperius had been brothers in arms, Auriel and Itherael had been the most inseparable of the Council.

"Is he seeking some answer to the changes to his domain?" Tyrael asked.

"I know not, he says little, as he always did. Though I hear reports that _Talus'ar_ has not been seen on his person for a long time as well." Auriel said.

 _Even the Angiris Council is on the verge of breaking. Truly these are the End Times._ Tyrael thought to himself.

"And what of Imperius? I hear he is not in the Silver City." Tyrael said.

Auriel was silent for a moment before she spoke. "Our brother journeys the Heavens, rallying the Angelic Host for a war he believes is coming. Without our council, I might add."

"I fear that his loss to Diablo has darkened his mind, Tyrael," Auriel said and turned towards him, "But he has declined any invitation I have given him. I hope he attends the Council today."

"What I intend to bring before the Council today concerns Imperius, and as such I fear we cannot convene without his presence." Tyrael said.

"Very well. I will send for him." Auriel said. She beckoned over one of the many angels stood about the square surrounding the Silver Spire. Tyrael wondered why his sister had chosen exactly that angel. It looked like any other, golden tendril wings and a featureless black space beneath their hood. A blood-red sash hung diagonally across their chest and they held a spear in their hands. Like many spears made in the Silver City, the design echoed that of _Solarion_ , Imperius' weapon.

"Reltharel, seek out your lord. Imperius is needed in the Council whether he wishes or not." Auriel said. Her wings were raised, her tone harsh. To Tyrael it sounded more like Auriel was speaking to a daemon than to a fellow angel.

If Reltharel noticed the change in tone, he gave no notice. "As you wish, Lady Auriel." With a gust of wind, he was gone, flying into the blue sky like a streak of gold.

"It is rare for you to take such a tone with any creature, sister, let alone with a fellow angel." Tyrael said.

Auriel looked back to him and with her pose slowly relaxed, her wings returning to their usual state. "Forgive me, Tyrael. The red sash Reltharel wears so openly is a signifier of his allegiance here in the High Heavens. Our unity, once so celebrated, is strained. If we do not act soon, or Imperius ceases his foolishness, we will be as divided as the daemons we so abhor."

 _Imperius, the Angiris Council and Tyrael. The Three Prime Orders._ Tyrael thought to himself with a grim chuckle.

As Auriel and he walked up the stairway into the Silver Spire, he hoped he would not drive that wedge deeper.

The council chamber was as it had always been; a circular speaking floor decorated with more crystal and precious gems than existed in all of Caldeum. 5 perfect circles represented the 5 Archangels, unchanged since the dawn of time.

 _Even though the Council is forever changed._ Tyrael thought. The crack in the floor from when he made his transformation was still there.

"None of us ever considered mending it." Auriel said. She stood at his side on one of the podiums that overlooked the central speaking floor.

"Just like it was never a question to maintain the symbology of the council chamber." Auriel said.

"The tragedies of the past make it ever more important to remember, so that we might avoid it in the future." Itherael continued.

"A very hopeful view." Tyrael said with a smile.

Auriel smiled back, as much as an angel could, and like a fresh spring breeze she crossed the distance to the adjacent podium. Itherael had arrived far before either of them, standing in silence across the way.

"Herald!" Auriel cried. Normally it would be Imperius or Tyrael's duty to perform the minutia of the Council, but times had changed.

"Any sign of our brother?"

An angel in flowing robes and a magnificent white-gold horn curled around his chest stepped from a small alcove on the floor below. "There is no sign of Lord Imperius, Lady Auriel. Nor any messengers carrying news."

"Very well," Auriel said and turned to Tyrael, "If you will tell, what is the issue that requires Imperius' presence?"

Tyrael had long thought of this moment, how it should be presented. When it was now before him, those long speeches now seemed ill-fitting.

Instead, Tyrael looked across the way of the council chamber at his former brother and sister, looking them in the eye as a mortal might. "Imperius has acted against the interests and safety of both the High Heavens and Sanctuary. He must face justice, so that he does not interfere further."

Auriel and Itherael were silent, waiting for Tyrael to speak further.

"Less than a week ago on Sanctuary, Imperius murdered the Nephalem." Tyrael said.

"The Nephalem saved the High Heavens from total disaster and averted fate itself." Itherael said, a trace of anger in his voice.

'"She did," Tyrael said, "The Heavens owe a great debt to this woman for her service both in that terrible assault and against Malthael and his Reapers."

"That only came to pass because you removed the Black Soulstone from its place of safety." A voice said.

All present turned to look when Imperius strode through a doorway to one of the podiums and leaned on the parapet. He too wore a crimson sash across his chest like Reltharel had.

"Malthael was deranged, and a danger to the order and balance on the world." Tyrael said.

"He was our brother!" Imperius shouted.

 _So were you!_ Tyrael thought furiously, fighting back tears.

"Malthael's plan was insanity. It would have destroyed an entire world of innocents, and if it had succeeded, the next time a being like Prime Diablo were to appear before the Diamond Gates, who among of us would be capable of stopping it." Tyrael said.

Imperius bristled at that but said nothing.

Auriel clapped and took a step backwards. "All are assembled. Call the Council to session."

The herald blew a long, clean note through the horn that echoed to the exterior of the Spire. Throughout the Silver City, angels would congregate towards the Spire to learn of what the Angiris Council was debating and deciding. Now Tyrael could only hope it would decide in his favour.

"The fact remains that the High Heavens, and each and every one of us standing in this chamber, were saved by a mortal that Malthael's plan would have killed."

"And who is now dead, because of Imperius' actions." Tyrael said after the note had faded.

"Do you have proof of these accusations?" Itherael said.

Before his transformation, none would have asked such questions of him, but then, before that time, no Archangel had levelled such accusations at another.

"I was present when it happened. Imperius drew his blade at me first before the Nephalem arrived." Tyrael said. Itherael simply nodded and took a step back in the shadows of his podium.

"Brother, you must still be under her spell. Please-" Imperius started.

"Do not!" Tyrael shouted, gripping the parapet in front of him, "Use that word. We are brothers no longer. And you can let go of your delusions about my allegiances too. I stand for the High Heavens, as well as Sanctuary, as I always have." His knuckles were pale from his grip on the stonework.

The chamber was silent for a moment as Tyrael and Imperius stared at each other.

"Imperius, what were your reasons for these actions?" Auriel said in a level tone.

"Humanity carry a daemonic heritage and are vulnerable to their corruption." Imperius said, though his gaze remained on Tyrael. "Diablo was only able to assault the Diamond Gates with the aid of a mortal."

"The Nephalem was mortal, and thus had these weaknesses in turn. I could not risk her turning to their side." Imperius said.

"That was a possibility, but at every stage she has acted against the daemons and their minions. Adria, the very witch that brought Diablo back from the depths of the Black Soulstone, was killed by the Nephalem. I journeyed with her so I could prevent daemonic influence." Tyrael said. Which was part of the truth.

"Humanity carries angelic and daemonic power in equal measure and lie outside the bounds of fate. While it is true that corruption is a possibility, none among us can tell the future." Itherael said, hands folded behind his back.

"Throughout their history, many among the mortals have fought against the servants of the Nine Hells with as much tenacity as any angel, even before Baal's machinations destroyed the Worldstone." Auriel said. Tyrael could feel her gaze upon him as she talked.

"Yet Baal AND Mephisto were freed when Diablo used a human host." Imperius stated, his wings bristling behind him.

"A human host that acted with the intention of sealing Diablo away to save the subjects of his kingdom." Tyrael said, remembering a shattered man in a monastery and his tales of the Dark Wanderer.

"So, they are fools as well as weaklings." Imperius said.

"Weaklings that have saved all of us and would have done so again if the situation arose." Tyrael said.

"I made sure it will not." Imperius said with a growl.

"Imperius, when humanity arose, this Council decided to allow it self-rule. When the Worldstone was shattered and the powers of the Nephalem began returning, if you harboured these reservations then, you should have called the Council so we could have debated if the ancient pact from the Sin War should have been held."

"But you did not. You acted of your own volition, both in violation of the pact and against a clear ally of the Silver City." Auriel said.

"I did it to protect the Silver City." Imperius said.

"The Silver City would have been better served with the Nephalem's continued assistance." Auriel said.

The council chamber was silent.

"Imperius, we cannot allow you to continue meddling in the affairs of Sanctuary. I understand your worries, but you have caused too much damage." Auriel said.

"You presume to command me?" Imperius said.

"You cannot ignore the decisions of the Council." Auriel said.

Imperius waved dismissively at the assembled members. "I see only two other members of the Council, and a mortal."

"It is nevertheless the Council's decision." Itherael said.

Imperius was silent for a moment. "I will not be caged in the Silver City like some guard dog."

What followed reminded Tyrael eerily of his own outburst, but he knew it would not be to Sanctuary's benefit.

With a burst of light, Imperius surged from his podium and landed in the centre of the chamber. Tyrael half-expected him to ram _Solarion_ into the floor.

"Clearly I alone act for the safety of the High Heavens. But if this 'Council'," Imperius spat the word like a curse, "wishes to hinder me and waste my time, then I refuse to respect it and its decisions."

Tyrael put a hand on the hilt of his sword and _Al'maiesh_ slid into Auriel's hands. Itherael stood stock still and merely watched.

"You would draw weapons against your brother?" Imperius said and looked at the assembled Archangels. He sounded more intrigued than saddened.

"You must not be yourself, Imperius, please-" Auriel said.

Imperius did not respond, instead surging back and away, slamming open the doors to the chamber. Tyrael and Auriel surged after him but he had not gone far.

Imperius stood on the top of the stairway, facing the multitude of angels awaiting the Angiris Council outside the Silver Spire.

"Kindred! Fellow defenders of the Silver City!" Imperius roared. The assembled angels got closer and a few cheered back.

"The Nine Hells are on the move again, conspiring to bring back their vile lords and strike at the Silver City." He continued. His voice easily carried across the whole square.

Tyrael strode up behind him. "Imperius, what is the meaning of this?"

Imperius ignored him, walking past him to cover him from sight with his armoured frame. "But the Angiris Council would have us hold off from conflict and await the daemons here, in the Silver City." The crowds looked to him but were silent.

The clouds above the square parted and _Solarion_ plummeted into Imperius' grip. It had been made whole. "Or should we fall upon them with the wrath of the Heavens and end this war?"

The square erupted into cheers.

"Come with me, my Golden Legion!" Imperius finished and took to the air.

"Imperius, what do you mean to end the War!?" Tyrael shouted. Across the square and indeed in the horizon, angels were flying into the sky.

Imperius halted and turned towards Tyrael. "I do not speak to traitors." With a flick of his wings, Imperius joined the legion of angels departing the City.

"Why did it have to end like this, Imperius?" Auriel whispered.

"Thank you, Auriel. I am in your debt." Tyrael said and bowed.

"Rise, Tyrael. Our order and unity are our bastion against the Prime Evils and their minions." Auriel said and looked at the angels leaving the square. "I feared that any other course of action would see us lose both you and Imperius. I saved as much as I could."

Tyrael's heart ached looking on one of his oldest friends in such a state, but he did not have the luxury of time. When all this was over, he might.

"If I am needed, you need only call for me, Auriel." Tyrael said.

"I know, Tyrael, I know. Now get going. I believe you have pressing matters elsewhere, as do I. Imperius will not sit idle after this, and I cannot believe our common enemies will either."

Auriel had never looked so alone as she did seeing Tyrael off on his return to Sanctuary.


	9. The Last Leg

"Everyone, quiet!" The scarred Horadrim woman whispered.

At her order the boat fell quiet. 4 other Horadrim were keeping low while they rowed the boat towards the harbour. They could all smell it over the tang of the seawater; smoke and blood. They did not know if the city was fallen or not, or how many daemons there were, but their ship could go no further. It was this hellish port or nothing.

Everyone grasped for their weapons as the boat brushed against the gravelly shore, tense breaths held so daemons would not hear them over the waves. When a long moment had passed with no cries of alarm or bloodcurdling roars, the woman signalled to leave the boat. With her in the lead they moved up the beach, staying as low as they could while they approached the side of the harbour. There had been a battle here, for as soon as they ascended unto the cobbles of the harbour proper they found piles of bodies. Mariners and dockworkers with great slashing or biting wounds and their faces contorted in agony, the cobbles around them covered in great splashes of blood. A few ships lay at anchor, one of them aflame. Beyond the roar of the flames, the port was silent. The battle, if it still raged, had moved inland. Swearing oaths of vengeance for the dead, the Horadrim followed.

Soon they heard the clashing of metal on the wind, as well as shouts of rage and pain. A square was the site of a raging battle between daemons and men, great bonfires interspersed throughout. Where the fires raged the daemons shied away, but elsewhere the humans were being pushed back and away from the fires. It was clearly not the only battle; in the distance a great host of flying daemons swarmed about and the Horadrim could see even more fires.

"Horadrim, with me." The scarred woman growled and gripped her weapon tightly. Around her the other Horadrim steeled themselves for battle.

Without shouts of battle the armoured warriors charged. The daemons were surprised and immediately fell back under their onslaught but not before the Horadrim had felled a dozen of their number. A red-skinned creature raised a staff aloft, made from a human spine, but before it could finish its spell, the woman's axe was planted in its skull. Two large daemons with blade-like fins on their arms and legs and a jaw like a beartrap sought to take advantage of her disarmament, only to discover that her shield and fist were equally lethal to any blade.

"For Ranstheim!" The shouts came and the daemons, distracted by the Horadrim attack, were again assaulted from the rear. The townsfolk came with their meagre weapons but also, more importantly, a mass of torches and lanterns. The fires were small, but the daemons panicked and tried to run in any direction that would take them away from the fires. Only few escaped. The Horadrim gripped their weapons with both hands and killed over half the daemons that tried to escape, a full third of that accounted for by the woman and her deadly axe.

The battle over, the townsfolk gave out a great cry and one of them, clothed in a long robe matted with blood, threw a spell into the sky that erupted in blue sparks. In the distance, a similar spell of a different hue answered, and the flying daemons jerked and fell under an onslaught of arrows and bolts.

The Horadrim woman sent her fellows to hunt the daemons that had fled, lest they circle around or report the events to their superiors. As she turned to retrieve her axe from the cranium of a pot-bellied daemon, she saw a man approaching her from the crowd of townsfolk. Close cropped black hair framed a pale face with yellow eyes. He wore ill-fitting armour and a spear that had snapped in the middle. To his credit, both halves of the spear were caked in blood.

"You have our great thanks, mystery warrior. Without you and yours I doubt we would have held for much longer." The man's voice was hoarse.

She grasped his extended hand. His grip belied his thin frame. "You have our thanks too, for holding so long. We have a ship in the harbour."

"I am afraid we cannot offer much in way of supplies, of any sort really. But if it's a port you seek, we can help you out." He said.

"How soon?" She said and grabbed with a vial in her belt.

The man looked back at his fellows. Most of them had collapsed to the ground in tired heaps and others worked about the square sorting bodies. Dead humans with closed eyes to the sky. Dead demons in disorganised piles to be burnt.

"I reckon the work will distract them, keep them going. We'll be ready before your ship clears the wave breakers." He said.

She nodded and threw the vial at the cobbles with a suddenness that startled the man. Before he could ask why or what, a white smoke had begun emanating from the cobbles where the liquid within had splashed.

"A signal to my ship." Was all she said for an answer.

Just as she turned to leave, the man cleared his throat. "I would like to know the name of our saviour. I'm Alders."

"Valkana Stormbringer." She said.

"Stormbringer? You're a barbarian, then?" He asked. Valkana's Horadrim fellows began returning to the square, 3 daemon corpses in their collective grasp. They were added to the piles.

"Aye, before the mountain was shattered." Valkana said, then added with a chuckle, "I'm a scholar now."

Alders looked at her blood-splattered armour and battle-axe. "If you say so."

After sharing a laugh, the two of them left on their business, Alders directing his workers to the docks and Valkana bringing her fellow Horadrim down to where the ship would dock. There were only a few dock-bridges left, the rest taken up by burning ships and derelicts. By the time the _Light of Rathma_ had dropped anchor, the burning ship was nearing the waterline and sinking fast. Valkana had no knowledge of dock work but she and her fellows helped where directed, and the ship was soon secured.

Arcanist Vaisoris was first down the ramp. "Excellent work Valkana. I knew you could do it."

Valkana indicated the townsfolk still milling about finalising the docking. "They'd done some of the work before we got here. It's not a town without fangs."

"Excellent." Vaisoris mumbled. Behind him the other Horadrim were leaving the ship, some in a better state than others. Karim in particular was green around the gills and promptly ran to the side of the docks to vomit.

A few stayed on the ship to watch the Soul Cage. Until they had the lay of the hand and a way forward, there was little to gain from bringing it ashore.

Alders stepped forward and extended a hand towards Vaisoris. "Uhm, welcome to Ranstheim. I take it you're the leader."

"Of this merry group, at the very least." Vaisoris said with a chuckle and took the hand.

"We hope we can purchase some supplies here before we move on." Vaisoris continued.

"That might be difficult, I'm afraid. We've been under constant attack by daemons for near a fortnight, and we're stretched thin even caring for our own."

Alders glanced at Valkana. "We're deeply grateful for your help, but it's an unfortunate choice for a port."

"I am afraid our ship can go no further, by order of its lovely captain." Vaisoris said. Far behind him on the ship, a tall woman was directing her crew to prepare to cast off as soon as the hold was emptied.

"But why are you all in Ranstheim? We mostly get people leaving, not many come here." Alders said.

"Have you heard of the Horadrim, lad?" Vaisoris said.

"Eh, stories. I heard they all died over two decades ago." Alders said.

"Not quite, but that's a story for another time. We are scholars and we wish to examine the ruins on the slopes of Mount Arreat." Vaisoris said.

He waved vaguely behind him at Valkana and the other Horadrim warriors. "Hence our escort."

Alders chuckled at Valkana. "So, you were a scholar after all." She smiled back.

"Are you sure? The daemons are rowdier than ever these days." Alders said, turning back to the old arcanist.

"Since when?" Vaisoris asked.

Alders scratched at the stubble on his chin for a moment. "A couple months, we've been kept quite busy so sometimes the days kind of blend into each other." He looked at the walls vaguely visible on the far side of town as he spoke. Dawn was breaking, but not with much fanfare. The clouds and smoke from the burning buildings filled much of the sky.

"We do some trade with the Demon Hunters out of their keep in the Dreadlands, but we haven't seen any of them for over a month now." Alders added.

 _Valla had been a demon hunter._ Valkana thought to herself.

"If at all possible, we should pass by their keep, Arcanist. They would be helpful allies, both in a fight and for navigating the region." Valkana said to the old scholar.

"That is true. If nothing else, we owe it to the Nephalem to ensure they are well." Vaisoris said and turned back to Alders.

"Young man, do you know anyone in this town that can guide us through the region, preferably also the keep of the hunters?"

"With things as they are, I doubt anyone in town would leave the walls. Even in daytime it would be dangerous. At night, well, let's not speak of it." Alders replied.

"There would be payment." Vaisoris said without missing a beat.

"Well that opens it up a bit, but anyone that mad or strapped for cash is bound to be deep in their cups or outside of town in the first place." Alders said.

"If you can wait till the sun's coming back down, the taverns will start filling back up. That will be your best bet." He added.

"Thank you for your assistance, young man." Vaisoris said and held out a small pouch.

"I appreciate the offer, but your escort probably saved our town. You don't owe me a thing." Alders said, then added. "Maybe a mug of ale at sundown."

"Very well. Valkana, let's be on." Vaisoris said.

The Horadrim split up, with roughly half staying near the docks to protect the ship, both from curious eyes and demons. The rest walked throughout Ranstheim, examining the town's defences, gateways and tunnels. The town was not under a proper siege but leaving through the main gate would attract more attention than they perhaps would enjoy, especially considering their cargo. So Valkana and the other fighters of the Horadrim felt through the darkness of tunnels to find a way to leave town out of sight.

"This one looks promising." Vaisoris had said and pointed at a pitch-black doorway sequestered away in the far end of an alleyway. Even the shacks had stopped a way back and it was just grimy cobblestone walls on either side. So now she was walking through the dark corridor beyond the doorway, careful about each step lest she misstep and injure herself on a hidden rock. A medallion given to her by Vaisoris gave off a weak light, enough to see by without disrupting her night vision excessively. Keeping a hand on the wall to her right for balance and to judge distance, she found a slight curvature as she went. A while after the light of the entrance behind her had passed, she saw a thin line of light up ahead. It was at the top of a long, wide stairway, illuminated by the weak light of the medallion.

As Valkana moved to step into the tall chamber that contained the stairway, she heard a splash of water. Taking care not to smash her metal armour against the stone, she dove behind a large block of fallen masonry and covered the medallion with her hand. After a moment of tense silence, the footsteps continued, albeit very slowly. Valkana held her breath while slowly removing her axe from its sheath at her side, ears trying to pick out any sound coming from the room. The footsteps were getting closer at the same pace. As they reached her hiding place, Valkana surged to her feet and swung her axe with a shout. The shape approaching her narrowly dodged the attack, jumping away from her and raising an object towards her. She heard a snap and threw herself to the side, but too slowly to evade the projectiles that clattered against her armour.

"Tough husk for a demon, aye?" The shape shouted. It had a hoarse voice, but clearly not demonic.

"I am no demon." Valkana said, put her axe aside and uncovered the medallion. The light showed a man standing in front of her. He was somewhat lanky but if he could dodge her attack, he could hardly be weak. Her was covered in cloth and leather, though the light washed out all the colours. On his shoulder and along his left arm she could see an arrangement of bones and he carried an assortment of small spheres and vials in belts across his torso. His outstretched hand held a small crossbow, much like the one she had seen the Nephalem use when she had met the woman in Westmarch.

"Oh," The man said in a surprised tone, "Honest mistake."

Valkana made to speak further but another splash in the room caught her tongue. She covered the medallion in a hurry and dived back beneath the rock. The man had slipped out of the area of light before Valkana had moved. The splash was followed by a multitude of others and the clicking of claws on stone. Large shapes with thin limbs moved through the darkness, crimson eyes darting back and forth. The man was nowhere to be seen as the shapes arrived at the entrance to the tunnel leading into town. Valkana made her breathing as quiet as she could as the creatures began stalking past her little hiding spot. Each had 4 legs like a knight's lance but made of bone, the legs supporting a thin torso with 4 further limbs, each limb shaped like a farmer's scythe covered in spikes. She heard a different movement in the chamber as over half of the demons had passed her, their chaotic assortment of eyes too focused on the path ahead to detect her. A creak of leather and then a sound of metal on stone. In the darkness she could only just see the sphere in time in order to move her shield around her body and in the way before the grenade went off. The tunnel filled with fire, noise and light. Demons screeched as the fire and the shrapnel blasted their bodies, the tight confines of the tunnel magnifying the effect. Valkana felt several items bounce off her shield until the immediate ball of flame died away. The demons had been hit hard and were shook, but over half their number was still alive. Grabbing her axe and uncovering the medallion, Valkana surged to her feet and struck at the closest shape. The demon's maw opened to snap at her before her axe parted its skull. Another demon roared at her and leapt, a mass of spiked limbs flying at her, Valkana managing to get her shield in between before it could strike. One arm went around the shield and sliced at her shoulder, hitting between where her pauldron and glove protected her, the cloth there parting with ease, leaving a gash on her upper arm. With a shout Valkana pivoted and pushed, slamming the demon into the wall and pinning it there with her shield before decapitating it with her axe. Two demons behind her raised their spiked forearms but before they could strike at her back, a burst of crossbow bolts slammed into them. Most were stopped by their armoured hide but enough hit home in eyes, neck and gut that both demons staggered away and collapsed. Another sphere falls to the ground and detonates, but the demons are roused and outside of the tight confines of the tunnel, so only a single demon is caught in the blast. Three of them surge around the fading explosion towards where the sphere had come from, only to find another grenade on a longer fuse. They shriek as their bodies are pelted with burning shrapnel. In the illumination cast by the explosion it is clear that the demon numbers are rapidly thinning and some of them break away to run away back the way they had come, only to find the man standing in front of them, and another volley of crossbow bolts punch through them. Two of the spindly demons think they have Valkana cornered, only for her to toss her axe through the skull of one and bulldoze the other with her shield, smashing its body to pieces with it.

A snap and a curse calls out through the noise of the battle and Valkana sees the man running from one of the creatures. She runs towards him and snatches her axe on the way, throwing the weapon into the demons back. As it flinches from the force and the sudden pain, she tackles it to the ground then grabs its head and rams it into the stone floor. It only takes 3 impacts for it to stop moving.

"No hard feelings for earlier, I hope." The man says as Valkana stands up, eyeing the spatters of blood on her armour.

"I'm friends with people that've hit me harder." She replied and bent to retrieve her axe. She had to put a boot on the demon to do so.

The man held out a hand. Now that she had a better look, the hand was strong and heavily scarred. "My name is Hans Rudiger. I'm one of the Demon Hunters that operate here in the Dreadlands."

"Valkana." She replies and takes the hand. His grip is strong.

"Pleased to meet you. Can we walk and talk?" He asks and points back the way she had come.

"We can. And I believe I know someone that would love to talk to you and your order." Valkana said, figuring she can return here to finish her exploration later.

"And who might that be?" Hans said. The light from the medallion cast shadows all over the tunnel as they walked.

"Arcanist Vaisoris Galaren of the Horadrim." Valkana replies. It's not often she uses his full name, but it is not often she talks to a Demon Hunter.

The last word makes Hans start. "The Horadrim? Like that old man from the stories?"

"The very one." Valkana said. She had never met the old man, but Vaisoris spoke of him at times. It was curious hearing the arcanist look up to someone.

"What was his name again? Devrim Kay?"

"Deckard Cain."

"That's the one." Hans said. As they walked, he brought out the crossbow from earlier. The limb was limp and there was no string.

"It broke at the worst time." Hans explained when he caught her glancing. "I suppose I've been taxing it too heavily."

"What is a Demon Hunter doing hiding in a city?" Valkana said after a moment of silence. They could see the light of the exit up ahead.

"Well I didn't intend to make for the city, but the demons drove me here. I've been harassing the herds that roam the Dreadlands, like many other Demon Hunters. Over the last month they've gone mad." Hans said, then added. "Not that demons are usually calm."

"When I left, they hadn't attacked the Keep yet, but I would not be surprised if that is under siege by now too. Something's got them riled up."

Valkana had an idea what that could be but decided to let Vaisoris tell that particular tale.

They found the old man waiting for them outside the door of the tunnel, smoking a pipe and reading a book. He was much delighted when he learned who and what Hans was.

Hans sat on the wooden deck looking at the intricate patterns of the Soul Cage and the glowing sphere it contained. Vaisoris and Valkana stood a short distance away.

"Oh Valla, how did you end up like this." He muttered after a while.

"She didn't suffer." Vaisoris said.

"I'd like to believe that, but Demon Hunters don't get to die in their beds." Hans said.

"Valla most of all."

"We mean to transport it to the Shattered Mountain." Vaisoris said after a moment of silence.

"That's a long way for a burial."

"An ancient prophecy says it will decide the fate of this world." Vaisoris continued, ignoring the jibe.

"And you want me to guide you there." Hans said.

"That is correct, her Rudiger." Vaisoris said.

"We can leave at first light." Hans said and stood up.

"The Horadrim have plenty of ways to light up the night." Vaisoris said.

"That may be, but the demons come out of their nests at force in the night. The plains will be swarming with them. Even with a small group it would be impossible to cross." Hans said.

"What if we could direct the eyes of the demons somewhere else? A distraction." Valkana said after a moment.

"It would have to be a real big distraction." Hans said with a chuckle.

The sky was pink with the waning sun by the time Valkana and Hans reached the battlements. Most of the townsfolk were there in scattered clumps, looking nervously at the duo and out onto the plains of the Dreadlands. In the far distance, Mount Arreat rumbled, the caldera covered in a thunderstorm.

Alders looked up at their approach then started when he saw Hans. "Hans! I thought you had all died." The two men shared a hearty handshake.

"Trust me, there's been plenty of close calls. How's the shop?" Hans said.

"Well I've had to take on a side-job for a time." Alders said and indicated the spear that rested against the wall. His armour was much like what Valkana had seen on the man when she arrived.

The merchant-turned-warrior looked over to Valkana. "I hope we can count on you and yours for this night as well."

"I am sorry, Alders, I have my own duty to do." Valkana said. No matter how their plan worked out, she could not imagine she would see the man alive again after this evening.

Alders nodded, then looked at Hans. "And I suppose you are part of that, or why would you be here too?"

Hans nodded. "I would love to stick around but this is important too. We need your help, Alders."

"How could a family man like me help two trained warriors like you?" Alders said with a grim chuckle.

Hans produced 4 vials from a bandolier. "We need to cross the plains, and we need as much time as we can get. Make some bonfires and splash that on them. Will make the Eve of the New Year look like a matchstick."

"Drawing more demons." Alders said. The chuckle was gone.

"Can the town handle that?" Hans said and looked across the walls.

Alders did the same. "Maybe." Was all he replied.

"We need to cover as much ground before the next nightfall and leaving in the night is the best way." Valkana said, trying to keep her voice level.

Alders was still for a moment and Valkana and Hans did not want to press him.

"I'd best get going then." Alders said finally and turned towards the nearest stairway off the walls.

"Going where?" Hans shouted after him.

"To find wood for the bonfires!" Alders shouted back.

"Wait a moment." Hans said and unclasped one of his bandoliers. Alders accepted it with a confused look.

"Grenades." Hans said in reply to his look.

Alders nodded, thanked Hans and ran down the steps two at a time.

Night fell. The sky went from pink to blood red to dark blue. Throughout town lights went on and fires were started, except the bonfires on the wall. They were for a specific purpose. Out beyond the walls, the Dreadlands were waking. Wide tunnels carved into the ground lit up from within and howls echoed back and forth over the barren land as the demons came from their realm. In the distance, Mount Arreat still rumbled.

The Horadrim stood gathered in the grand chamber at the end of the tunnel. The warriors that Valkana had brought with her to the harbour covered their rear while Valkana and Hans continued through the remainder of the tunnel into the open air beyond. It was not the only exit from the chamber, but all the others were not manmade. Old, dusty demon-tunnels, the ground within covered in bones of all sorts. The corpses from Valkana and Hans' battle the other day had already been removed, long bloody drag-marks running into the underground.

"I wish we had a way to signal Alders." Hans said as Valkana and he waited in the shadow of the walls.

"The demons would see the signal." Valkana replied.

"I know, I know. But a man can wish." Hans said and checked his armaments again. He had fixed his crossbow before leaving town, and a replacement bandolier held a row of knives.

In the distance they could see the herds of demons moving towards the walls. They were scattered and disorganised, but they far outnumbered the townsfolk on the walls. Volleys of arrows rained down on the demons and some fell, but most did not. The battlefield was lit by a bright flash of light and then the cries of demons. The ones closest to the walls screamed and fled, until the light faded. When the demons regained their courage and renewed their assault, their numbers had grown. The light flashed again and again the demons recoiled, but in the distance Valkana could see more demons emerging from the hills.

"It's time we started moving. They're buying us time and we're wasting it." Hans said and turned for the entrance to the tunnel.

The Horadrim caravan made good time. Hans took the lead, so the caravan avoided the worst of the treacherous terrain. Valkana marched alongside the Soul Cage, which had been covered with a sheet to contain the light, and would look over her shoulder sometimes to see Ranstheim in the distance. From the distance all she could see was that the fires still burned on the walls.

Eventually Ranstheim disappeared in the distance, behind the hills of the Dreadlands. Valkana had wondered why they would need a guide to get to Mount Arreat; and indeed, ever since they had arrived at the shore of the Dreadlands, the ominous mountain had been clearly visible on the horizon, forever roiling within a storm. She had thought that surely, they could use it as a landmark to navigate. She had not considered how broken the Dreadlands were. They had always been a harsh land, even before Baal's invasion, but somehow the loss of the Worldstone and the demonic influence had broken and twisted the land. What seemed like hills ended in sheer cliffs, ravines would open in places difficult to see with the naked eye ready to drop unsuspecting travellers to their doom.

Daylight had begun returning by the time the caravan reached the first big obstacle after leaving Ranstheim. A ravine had opened up a hole over 10 meters across and several miles east and west. A single path cross it, less than a meter wide.

Hans stood on a rock, scanning both ways around the ravine. Valkana and the other warriors stood guard while the scholars rested their feet. Every single one knew the importance of their task so there was no complaining.

"We could go around, but it would easily take an hour whichever way, and," Hans squinted at the eastern approach, "I think I see demon tunnels in either direction."

"So, we should cross." Vaisoris said. The comment lacked his usual good cheer.

"It would be smartest, but also the most dangerous course. Let me get a closer look." Hans said and approached the edge.

"Sir, if we tie everyone together with rope, that should lessen the risk of anyone falling off." Karim said.

"Very well. Everyone, assemble all the rope we have with us." Vaisoris said.

"What about the Soul Cage? All of us making it across has little use if we leave that behind." Valkana said.

"If we send you across with rope, tie it to the Cage itself then we can guide and push it across the bridge." Karim said.

"I'd be careful about falling off, even with all the rope in Sanctuary attached." Hans said. He pointed behind him down the crevasse.

"There's whimvine down there."

"Whimvine?" Karim said.

"Think of it like an evil tree-root." Hans replied. "Wickedly sharp at the tip. Even a metal chain wouldn't hold long."

"Can they reach up to the bridge?" Vaisoris asked.

"Shouldn't, no. But if anyone falls off, you'll have to pull them up right quick." Hans said.

Rope was tied around Valkana's waist and with a deep breath she ventured out onto the bridge. She wanted to take a wide stance for balance but didn't trust the rock closer to the edge, so she stuck to the middle, placing each foot in front of the other with more care than she ever had before. When she was past the halfway point, she heard a cry behind her and heard the flapping of wings. She ducked below the flight of bats returning home to sleep. Risking a look behind her, she saw Hans giving her the sign to continue. If the Demon Hunter thought it safe, she chose to trust him. On the cliff beneath where the Horadrim was waiting she could see a tangled mess, like a thick bramble bush. That must be the whimvine Hans had been talking about.

Taking a deep breath, Valkana carefully stood up and continued, only breathing easier when she was fully across with enough space around her to lie down at her full height and still be on solid ground. Across the way, Hans stood as high as he could in the immediate landscape so he could scout for demonic attention while the rest of the Horadrim braved the crossing.

Another Horadrim warrior crossed the bridge with no incident and the Soul Cage was tied to the rope and to its stretcher with enough rope to cross the crevasse several times so that hands on both sides could assist with its transport without dislodging it. When it was secured to everyone's satisfaction, Valkana and the other warrior took up their end while two others took the other. The two that had carried it all the way here lifted the stretcher and walked out onto the bridge, testing it with every step. While the caravan held its collective breath and the warriors kept themselves ready to pull the ropes taut at a moment's notice the stretcher inched across. With each step Valkana saw the bridge crumble and spill all their efforts into the darkness below, but it never happened. With a deep sigh of relief from all present, the Soul Cage was put down on the ground as far away from the edge as the terrain would allow.

Vaisoris was the next across, secured almost as tightly as the Soul Cage had been. When the old man was across, he quipped that was honoured that they wished so dearly to keep hold of him. Karim and another scholar were next and then the scholars were crossing in pairs, tied thrown back and forth across the crevasse like tools in some open-air circus.

The good fortune failed them with one of the last crossings; a pair of younger scholars were crossing very slowly when one of them, surprised by a gust of wind from below, looked down into the abyss below the bridge. With a sharp cry he dropped to the ground, hands over his head and muttering something indistinct over the gap. Even as his crossing-partner bent to console him, the scholar's cry was met with another, far less human cry. Shouting erupted on both sides of the bridge as a flock of winged creatures erupted from a copse of trees a hundred meters or so down the border of the ravine. Karim shouted at the men to hurry. Vaisoris tried to guide some of the scholars onto the bridge to help the stranded scholars. Valkana and the other warriors began readying for battle, and set a chain on the handle of her axe. Hans simply grumbled.

The creatures flew high into the air then angled towards the bridge. Even though the bitterly cold wind of the Dreadlands was against them, the creatures sped towards the flock of people scattered around the ravine like a burst of loosed arrows. Their vague silhouettes soon became obviously demonic, all brutal fangs and fiery eyes. Hans shot at them as soon as they were in range, his crossbow causing a few of them to tumble out of the sky with pained shrieks, but not all. 3 of the winged demons descended on the centre of the bridge, one of them catching Valkana's axe with its chest for its trouble. The remaining two tore into the scholar that had fallen, their fangs and claws tearing his robe apart and scattering blood and gore all over the stone. His partner was not attacked, but the buffeting of wings so close to him pushed him away and over the edge where he fell, the rope not as taut as it should be since the other man was cowering on the bridge from the demonic attack. The scholar swung on the rope towards the cliff edge while hanging on for dear life so as not to lose his grip when he impacted. But as soon as he neared the rockface, the mass of bramble came to sudden life, wooden limbs lashing out at the movement around them. The rope holding the scholar was sliced in two in a blink and with a cry he vanished into the abyss.

Hans reloaded his crossbow and put a bolt in the two demons on the bridge. One of them roared back and lifted up on its wings, but the other stumbled and fell from the bridge. After a few meters the whimvine surged with activity again, the razor-sharp limbs slicing the creature to ribbons.

"Now, cross!" Hans shouted at the Horadrim that remained on the far side. The four scholars exchanged a glance then began walking across the gap, arms out for balance. One by one they reached the rope that lay slack on the bridge from having been cut by the whimvine and they all grabbed hold of it as they proceeded. The demon angled in the air regardless of how the wind blew and came back towards the bridge with a screech. The scholars cried out and hurried their steps, but they would not make it across the gap before it would reach them. Valkana hurried to the edge and tossed her axe, attached to a chain, at its torso but it was too agile and dodged aside, emitting a warbling cry like a laughter. The laughter was cut short by a crossbow bolt to the back of the head. As it tumbled into the ravine without a sound, Hans reloaded his crossbow. The scholars breathed a sigh of relief and walked the rest of the way into the helping arms of the other Horadrim.

Across the ravine they heard another howl. Hans was less taken aback than the others, the Demon Hunter dropping off the position he was standing on and running to the start of the bridge as a large group of demons arrived over the edge of the hill overlooking the ravine. Each had blood-red skin, a tangled mass of thick horns on the top of their heads and rode a huge lizard-like creature that exhaled a pitch-black smoke. With a roar they leapt off the cliff down towards Hans who turned and began running across the bridge, leaving behind a small metallic sphere. It detonated when he was halfway across, scattering rocks and demons to all sides. Some of the demons fell onto the ground while some stumbled off the edge and into the abyss, howling all the way. The shockwave caused Hans to stumble forwards and slide off the bridge, but Valkana managed to dive forwards and grab his hand before he could fall out of reach. He grumbled a thanks as she pulled him up. Across the ravine, the demons were regrouping, their lizard mounts crossing the bridge with their supernatural agility.

"Toss another grenade!" Valkana shouted. A lizard swung at her with its claw, but it only managed to rake across her shield.

"That was my last one!" Hans shouted. Thrusting his crossbow into the lizard's face, he planted a bolt in its eye. With a cry of pain, it tumbled backwards and off the bridge.

The bridge was too narrow for many of the demons to get close at once but by now the other side of the ravine was teeming with demons, far more than they could realistically defeat. And even if the few warriors among the Horadrim could defeat the demon horde, the commotion would draw many more from their tunnels, and if any circled around the sides of the ravine on their fast mounts, they would be surrounded.

"On my word, push them back!" Valkana shouted and took a step back. The other warriors fought to make up for the brief hole in the line, Hans helping from the flank with his crossbow, each bolt sending a demon into the abyss.

"Now!" At the word, the warriors swung their heavy shields forwards, forcing the enemy to either leap back or be sent flying from the bridge. Valkana leapt into the small opening and swung her axe downwards as hard as she could, hoping to dislodge the bridge. The axe slammed against the rock, but the bridge held, only a few small pebbles falling away. Before she could pull back to swing again, a large demon stepped on the back of her axe and pinned it to the ground. Beside her, her fellow Horadrim were pushed back a step by a new wave that had crossed the narrow bridge. She pulled on the chain attached to her axe, but the demon was too large to be easily dislodged. It laughed as it raised its own axe.

There was a shout behind her and a lance of thunder hit the demon in the shoulder. It roared in pain for a moment before the shock surged through its form and it stumbled backwards off her axe.

"Vaisoris!" Valkana shouted behind her.

"You're welcome, Stormbringer!" Vaisoris replied. He stood close behind her holding his medallion in a raised hand.

"Hit the bridge as hard as you can!"

Vaisoris grunted in understanding and began chanting. The sky above the ravine began roiling with power, the clouds slowing their travel as they were drawn into a spiral shape by the growing. The demons cried out and pushed again, the warriors forced back another step. But it was too little, too late. With a shout, Vaisoris swung his arm forward and a peal of thunder deafened everyone on the battlefield before a lightning strike ripped through the clouds and slammed into the bridge near where Valkana had struck it. The demons closest were blinded then fried from the intense energies. A crack of breaking rock filled the silence that followed the lightning and the demons howled and tried to get off the span of rock, either by running away or by pushing through the warriors that now held their shields in a wall of steel. A further crack and the middle of the bridge fell out, rock and demons tumbling down. The tension from the centre portion removed, the other sides crumbled quickly. One demon leapt up over its comrades to clear the wall, but Hans caught it with a bola fired from his crossbow, restraining it and sending it flying back into the hole. As it fell, it went past the mass of bramble. The whimvine lashed out and cut away the bola, but before the demon could even shrug off the remainder for the rope, the sharp limbs sliced it apart and it fell into the abyss in silence.

"We need to get moving." Hans said when all were back on their feet. Vaisoris was pale but he nodded still. On the far side of the ravine the demons howled and clamoured. With pressure from its red-skinned master, one of the lizards attempted to make the jump but fell a few meters short, plunging into the crevasse with a sharp cry and a puff of black smoke. A few demons tried throwing their weapons but the ones that both crossed the distance and flew even remotely close to the group were deflected by the wide shields carried by the Horadrim warriors.

The more pressing problem, the one worrying Hans, were the two prongs of demonic outriders moving around the ravine to flank the group.

Valkana was supporting Vaisoris. "Carriers, follow Her Rudiger's lead, we are leaving for the mountain." The arcanist said.

Hans nodded and beckoned the carriers forward. Up and over the hill they went, and the journey towards Mount Arreat resumed. Vaisoris could keep the pace with Valkana's help but it was clear that the spell had taxed the man. He spoke little on the first leg of the journey, instead focusing on his breathing. The colour returned a little to his features, much to Valkana's relief. Ahead of them, Mount Arreat dominated first the horizon, then the sky. The wind began picking up when they reached its slopes and began ascending. In the valley behind them they could see a herd following them, the demons from the ravine passing that had gone around.

"They are behind us still but that will not last till sunset." Hans said with a grim expression. He walked beside the carriers to be on the lookout for holes or unstable ground, Valkana walking beside him. Vaisoris had recovered enough to keep up on his own, though the slope and the rough terrain was not kind on him.

Valkana looked down the slope. They were too far for her to see many details, but some of the lizard-mounts seemed to remain on the pursuit, even as the sun was setting on the horizon. "Some of the warriors and I could remain behind, delay them as long as possible." She said.

"We might well meet more demons as we get closer to the caldera, so I would not advise separating the group." Hans said.

With a chuckle, he added. "Besides, let's not send people to their deaths if we can avoid it. We have some time before we can do much about it, it's flat going for a little while yet." Hans finished.

There was silence between the two of them for a moment, broken intermittently by Vaisoris' grunting and grumbling.

"How did you know the Nephalem?" Valkana asked.

"The Nephalem? You mean Valla?" Hans said with another chuckle.

"We were trainees together, took the oath on the same day. Why?" Hans added.

It took a moment for Valkana to respond.

"I met Valla during the attack on Westmarch. My troop was just leaving the town when smoke started pouring from houses and screams followed."

Valkana was silent for a moment. "I am a warrior by blood. I take pride in my ability. But next to her I felt like a peasant idly swinging a lumber-axe. She was deadly in battle like nothing else I have ever seen."

"She was something else, that is true. Even during her training, she had an intensity that few could match. I certainly couldn't." Hans said.

The caravan walked in silence for a while, their pace hurried to keep as much distance between them and the pursuing demons as they could. Before long they reached a change in the slope, a cresting that led towards the old, abandoned settlements of the barbarian tribes that used to live on Mount Arreat and the approach towards the caldera. A wide plain swept out before them, covered in tough grasses that gave way to more rocky ground in the distance. Huts built with long timber and slabs of slate populated the plain, becoming bigger, more imposing structures and fortifications as the plain narrowed along the path to the core. To most members of the caravan, this was the first they had seen of the infamous barbarian civilisation. To Vaisoris and Hans, it was known territory. To Valkana, it was her childhood home. But these relations was not the first thing to occupy their attention at the sight.

It was the horde of demons that waited in the valley.

The red-skinned brutes they had encountered on the bridge must have been scouts or outriders from this army. They could see many more of that breed among the ranks, alongside pale-skinned humanoids covered in armour with cruel barbs, winged monsters alongside other far more monstrous creatures. Hans swore under his breath at the sight, seeing for the first time many creatures he had never seen outside of the manuscripts in the keep of the Demon Hunters. Vaisoris mumbled a prayer and grasped his medallion. Valkana looked on grimly, torn between planning how they would pass and despairing at the state of her people's heritage.

On the slope beneath them, the demonic scouts had paused in their pursuit and was instead fanning out to surround them and keep them from retreating back down the mountain.

"So many demons in one place." Hans said quietly. To Valkana the demon hunter suddenly seemed unsteady on his legs.

"The Nephalem faced more foes than this during her fighting at Bastion's Keep." Vaisoris said, though without much conviction or cheer.

"We are not the Nephalem." Valkana said.

A chorus of shouts and cries broke their contemplative silence. One of the other warriors tapped Valkana on the shoulder and pointed down the slope behind them. The demons had been forced from their mounts by fresh attackers. The distance was too great to see many details but Valkana was sure the attackers looked humanoid and flew through the air.

Behind her, Vaisoris prayed again, this time louder. Hans swore, but not at the strange ambush on the slope beneath them. Valkana turned to the plain again.

The demon army was on the move but not in the direction of the caravan. It was trying to form into lines of battle towards some point to the west. A figure hung in the sky, covered in radiant armour and carrying a spear that glowed like a fragment of the sun.

"Imperius." Vaisoris said, his voice full of awe.

The Archangel of Valor motioned forwards with his fabled spear, and the heavens split open behind him. But what spilt through was not the golden light of the High Heavens. What could be seen through the portal, even across such distance, was the dead, grey world of Pandemonium. As the joyless light of that war-torn realm shone on Sanctuary for the first time, a legion of angels charged through, each holding a spear.

Imperius' Golden Spears charged onto the field against the demonic horde, their songs of battle carried on the wind of their rush.


	10. The Nephalem Soul

Less than half a year ago, all present would have been awestruck at the sight. An army of angels led by their greatest general fighting the demonic hordes that camped in the shadow of Mount Arreat. But Tyrael's words about the events in the desert were still clear to them. They knew what Imperius had done and the sight fell short.

"Not every day you see angels, and a whole army of them to boot." Hans said.

"I am sorry to so spoil your first sighting, but we cannot stay to wonder. I severely doubt that Imperius is our ally in this." Vaisoris said.

"They're killing demons by the bucketload," Hans said. "Any enemy of demons is a friend of mine."

"If you recall my tale on the boat, Her Rudiger." Vaisoris said.

"Oh." Hans said, connecting the dots.

"We need to find a way through." Valkana said. Ahead of the caravan the battlefield was chaos, demons surging around shining seas of angelic soldiers. Each was armed with a spear much like the one Imperius carried, though he carried the mightiest. A demon like a living siege tower, all bone plating and fiery maws stretching into the sky, charged at Imperius, its gait giving off rumbles even to the slope where the caravan stood. At the last moment Imperius leapt from the ground to its face and rammed _Solarion_ through its skull in one movement. He leapt and fought on before the towering demon had even touched the ground. The hole in the sky that the angels had come from had closed by now and the battle was beginning to shift to one side of the plain, groups of angels striking isolated demons from above with their spears.

3 streamers of mist surged past the caravan to land on the slope in front of them before coalescing into humanoid shapes with ornate armour and hoods that covered their faces entirely in shadow.

"Esteemed Horadrim," The lead angel said, then nodded at Hans, "and guests. You have done the High Heavens a great service to come so far. We are here to bring you before Lord Imperius, so that the artefact can be kept safe from the servants of the Nine Hells."

Valkana stepped forward. "We can protect it ourselves."

"That may be so, but our orders stand." The angel said, shifting his stance with his spear ever so slightly.

Valkana and the other warriors drew their weapons in response, but before the groups could come to blows, Vaisoris goes between her and the angel.

"We accept, and we will go see Lord Imperius." Vaisoris said.

The angel in front raised his spear again and the hooded face turned towards Vaisoris. "Good of you to see reason. Quick, follow us. We must hurry." As one they turned and headed towards the rear line of the angelic army. In the battlefield, some semblance of a line of battle had formed and the demons were being hemmed in.

As Valkana walked past Vaisoris to follow, he leaned close to her. "Be ready to go at any moment." He said hurriedly in a low tone. Biting back her questions, Valkana nodded and put her axe away.

As the Horadrim and their escorts traversed the battlefield, the fight had begun waning. The demons still fought tooth and claw, but the angelic army fought in unison and with purpose, and for each angel that fell, a dozen demons followed it. It seemed that, with the Prime and Lesser evils all recovering from their capture in the Black Soulstone, the demonic legions were an ill match for the angels on the battlefield.

Around the halfway point to the area where Imperius was, the footpath leading up towards Mount Arreat's core was not far away. They still only had the three angels from earlier escorting them, and they were doing so with their backs turned. In truth Vaisoris did not know how they would escape the angels, but there would not come a better time.

Vaisoris tapped Valkana on the shoulder. "Time to go."

The warrior woman looked about her and nodded at the rest of the Horadrim. With a sharp turn, they took off towards the footpath. The scholars kept an eye on the cage, the warriors drew their weapons and prepared for battle. With a shout, the angels noticed their escape and leapt past them, wings spread wide and spear held in front of them.

"Halt!"

"We've changed our minds about your audience." Vaisoris said with a chuckle.

Before the angels could respond, Valkana threw herself at them, battle-axe ringing against the shaft of one of their spears. "Go, now!"

The Horadrim leapt to it, the warriors splitting up to attack the other two angels and the scholars running past with the cage, beginning the trek up the footpath.

The angel Valkana had attacked grunted but pushed back with enough force to put Valkana on the back foot and then struck out with its wings to hold her still, interrupted by a crossbow bolt sinking its side. The angel groaned and backed away, holding its side.

"My thanks, Hans." Valkana said and hoisted her axe.

"No worries." Hans said grimly. He looked pale but his hands were steady as he reloaded.

The angel ripped out the bolt and threw it aside. "Impertinent mortals. Lord Imperius said you might attempt something foolish."

Valkana wasted no breath on a response, instead loosing a shout of battle and leapt at the angel. Her axe struck three times, each ringing against the angel's spear but the metallic shaft held. A wing-tendril slid under her to trip her up, but a throwing knife sliced the magical limb in two. The angel had to leap back to avoid the crossbow bolt that followed it, then turned to smoke and sped past Valkana. She barely managed a warning to Hans before she saw the spear materialise first, aimed for Hans' stomach. To the Hunter's credit, he threw himself aside in time and left one of his spherical grenades behind in his place. It detonated with an explosive roar, showering both humans in dirt and rocks.

"Pompous prick." Hans said, but further words caught in his throat.

When the cloud from the grenade settled, the angel stood seemingly unaffected. It tapped the butt of its spear on the ground and the area was suffused with sunlight. The tip of the spear glowed and before either human could move, the angel countered, leaping at Hans first. His crossbow and bandoliers fell away in shreds under the sudden attack, and when Valkana closed to help, the angel spun in place and attacked. Valkana caught the first strike with her shield but it struck with such force that the metal shield shattered.

The angel wings struck out against both human combatants. One tendril grabbed Hans around the ankle, spilling him on his face, while another two wrapped around Valkana's arms and legs. As they struggled to escape, the angel turned away to pursue the scholars that were running up the slope. Around them, the other warriors of the Horadrim had been similarly ensnared.

"You will convince your fellows to give up the artefact. We will not be so merciful a second time." The angel said as it closed in on the remaining Horadrim.

Hans was groggy from his fall, but Valkana heard him mumble something.

"Neither will we."

The tendrils holding Hans shook and fell away, dropping the Demon Hunter to land awkwardly on his behind. As the angel turned, it barely had a moment to react before a clock of coal-black energy covered Hans' upper body and struck back, the angelic wings shying away from them. Several black tendrils struck the angel's form like bolts from a ballista, punching through its armour like it was paper. Dust spilled from the angel's wounds as the black limbs retracted and struck at the other angelic escorts. One of them was decapitated before it could defend itself, but the other get its spear up in time, only to be bull-rushed by Valkana. Even as it shrugged the warrior-woman off, the black limbs impaled it. With a groan the angel collapsed.

Hans got up only to collapse back to his knees. "Gods, that was tiring."

Valkana moved to his side, momentarily taken aback by the golden flecks she saw glowing at the corners of his eyes.

"What, have I got something on my face?" Hans said with a weak chuckle.

Valkana helped him to his feet and encouraged the other warriors to get on their feet. If any angels had followed the scholars, they would need help.

"The big guy's coming." Hans said. He was leaning on her heavily.

In the distance, Imperius was striding towards them, his army parting to allow him to pass.

Valkana lifted Hans as much as she could and hurried up the path.

The scholars ran their hardest, and the warriors followed ready for battle, but the angels were faster. Hans might have dispatched their immediate escorts but before the Horadrim had crossed 100 meters, a dozen angels landed on the path in front of them, spears raised.

Hans had recovered his breath and with an effort of will he summoned the black cloak again. It hovered about his shoulders almost with a will of its own, drifting on a wind Valkana could not sense. He stepped away from her and towards the angels.

Valkana heard a gust of wind and saw Hans shudder and cough up blood. Only then did she notice the spear that had impaled him.

"Hans!" Valkana shouted. Before she had even taken 2 steps, he Hanshad collapsed, the spear ripped back out by some unseen hand. He looked at her and tried to speak, but only coughed up blood. Even as she tried to pick him up, his eyes glazed over.

The Archangel Imperius stood in the path behind, his spear held at his side.

The Horadrim stood in awe and surprise as the air split open between them and the Archangel.

Tyrael stepped through the portal, a hand on the handle of his sword. He had swept his brown cloak back to reveal the gilded armour he wore beneath and his sword glowed to rival Imperius' spear.

"Step aside, Tyrael. This escaped your reach when you chose mortality." Imperius said.

Tyrael ignored the command. "What is your goal, Imperius? What do you intend for the Nephalem's soul?"

"Soul?" Imperius laughed. The sound was cruel, not joyful. For a moment Tyrael thought a demon truly had possessed Imperius, but no, his former brother was himself. All valour and arrogance.

"That is no soul. It is a mass of energy, nothing more." Imperius said.

Tyrael swallowed his anger. "And what then? You wrest it from their hands by force, like the demons would, and what then, Lord Imperius?" Tyrael practically spat the word 'lord'.

Imperius paused. "Very well."

"As a last gift to my old brother, I will tell you what I intend." Imperius said.

He tapped in the air with his spear, and a small portal emerged, too small to pass through but large enough to show the Silver City and the Silver Spire at its heart. "When we angels fall on the battlefield, we are reborn in the light of the Crystal Arch, to join the Unending War anew."

"Any angel knows this, Imperius. It has always been." Tyrael said.

"So it has, but for all its glory, the Crystal Arch can only very rarely bring forth entirely new angels. Our numbers grow, yes, but not as fast as the demonic filth can propagate. The Lightsong cannot match the Black Abyss." Imperius said. The portal vanished.

Tyrael was speechless. What Imperius was saying was not untrue, but it had always been considered taboo at best, heresy at worst.

Imperius pointed at the Soul Cage with the tip of his spear. "But here we are presented with an opportunity to change the War forever. That orb holds enough power to enhance the Lightsong for millennia to come. Bring forth a legion of new angels and crush the hellspawn."

"And then what of Sanctuary? What of humanity?" Tyrael said.

"Why, they will be crushed. They are tainted by their demonic heritage. Nothing must be left behind. Then, and only then, will the Unending War be over." Imperius said, then extended a hand towards Tyrael.

"This is your final chance at redemption, Tyrael. In the light of the new Lightsong, you can regain your rightful form. You can be rid of this contemptuous mortality."

Tyrael knew what his answer would be. He only hoped Auriel and Itherael would understand. _Valla, give me strength._

Tyrael drew his sword, a ringing sound lingering in the air for a second. "The Nephalem's soul will stay here, in Sanctuary. I will never let you have it, Imperius."

Imperius' wings dropped to his side. "Golden Spears, arrest this heretic." He said, his voice devoid of any sympathy.

As the angels in front of the caravan began muscling past to apprehend Tyrael, he cut the air with _El'druin_ to open his own portal, this one nearly as vast as the one Imperius had used to bring his army to the battlefield. Out from it came another group of angels. These did not carry the signature crimson sashes of the Golden Spears, nor did they carry imitations of _Solarion_. With a cry of battle they surged past Imperius' guards to stand in front of Tyrael. There were perhaps only a quarter of their number compared to the Golden Spears.

"Lord Tyrael! The Angiris Council sends their blessing." Linarel said with a salute.

"What is this? Angels cannot fight angels!" Imperius roared.

"You have done as much in the past, Imperius. This is the end of the road. You were told to cease meddling with the affairs of Sanctuary. Now the Council must take action." Linarel said and turned towards the Archangel. His wings were jittery but the young angel stood his ground. Tyrael smiled despite the grim situation. Imperius' army still fought the demons but if even half his numbers came towards them, they would not last long.

Tyrael turned towards the Horadrim that still stood in shock. "Go, we will hold them here. You must see our quest through, for all our sakes."

The warrior woman nodded grimly at him and stood up; her armour was spattered with blood from the fallen demon hunter. One last cluster of golden sparks caught Tyrael's eye before they faded away. The scene reminded Tyrael uncomfortably of Valla's death. With one look back, the woman hurried the other Horadrim onwards towards the caldera.

"I will see you all exiled for this treachery." Imperius shouted, his voice all rage.

Linarel stood his ground. "You do not have a seat on the Council anymore, Imperius, you-"

"In the new Lightsong, there will be no need for the Council. I alone can lead the Heavens to victory!" Imperius shouted, cutting Linarel off.

"And you call us heretics." Linarel said with a growl, gripping his spear firmly."

"Soldiers of the Diamond Guard," Linarel shouted to his fellow soldiers, then pointed to Imperius and his red-sashed soldiers, "Let not one past. They are the enemies of the Angiris Council!"

Tyrael had never, even in his darkest nightmares, thought he would see civil war between angels; that was a thing for the humans or the chaotic demons. But here it was, instigated in part by himself. He hoped the Horadrim had reached the caldera, but he had no way of knowing. In truth, Tyrael didn't even know **what** would happen when they reached the caldera. All this had been staked on a vague prophecy scribbled on a wall built on the slopes of the very mountain behind him. By now he had no choice whether to believe it; he had to forge on, make it real.

With a shouted curse, Imperius leapt at the Diamond Guard, a regiment of his Golden Spears in his wake. His first swing crushed the shield of one angel and his follow-up pierced through the hood of another, causing the angel to collapse in a pile of dust. _Angels killing angels._ Tyrael thought as he blocked the third blow with _El'druin_. The sword creaked under the impact but held, _Solarion_ glowing like a small sun.

Around them the battle was joined in full, angels fighting angels.

"We've danced this dance before, Tyrael. This one will end like all the others." Imperius said with a snarl and pushed.

"You were stopped the other times, Imperius, now it is up to me to hold the line." Tyrael said with a grimace.

"That's right, Tyrael, now it is up to you." Imperius said and leapt back before thrusting his spear forwards. The tip glowing a vibrant gold was all the warning Tyrael got before a lance of energy struck him, deflecting off his raised sword and shearing a gap through his shoulder-plate. He cried out in pain and stumbled to his knees, barely able to raise his left arm. His left side felt like it was on fire.

Imperius dropped _Solarion_ to his side and strode up to where Tyrael sat gasping for breath. An angel tried to stand between him and the Archangel, but Imperius swept him aside like kindling. An armoured glove gripped Tyrael by the throat and raised him up till he could look into Imperius' hood. As with any angel, there was nothing but blackness, no eyes or expression.

"This is what your deeds and your mortality hold for you, Tyrael. Remember that when I snuff out your precious Sanctuary." Imperius said and threw Tyrael aside, leaping through the battle-line as a wisp of smoke.

"Lord Tyrael!" Linarel shouted in alarm and knelt at his side. Tyrael accepted his hand and stood slowly. Stabbing _El'druin_ into the soil, he examined the wound. His armour was badly damaged and his shoulder underneath was burnt, a long groove of scorched flesh that leaked unpleasant liquids. It hurt to even look at.

"I have to go after Imperius." Tyrael said.

"But you're injured." Linarel said.

"You and yours have to hold the line, Linarel. Only I can follow. You can do one thing for me before I leave." Tyrael said.

"What is it, my lord?"

"Take this pauldron off of me." Tyrael said.

Sheathing his sword, Tyrael ran up the slope. The noise of battle fell behind him but it never went away. He said he had to follow Imperius, but what could he realistically do. As Imperius had said, they had fought before. It always ended the same way; Imperius won. Aside from their elder brother Malthael, Imperius had always been the strongest amongst the Archangels. But even so, Tyrael had to forge on.

Before long he came upon a scene of battle. 5 Horadrim lay by the wayside, their armour shattered and their blood staining the ground. Imperius must have come past here.

As he passed, he heard a cough and a shuffling of dirt. The scarred Horadrim woman had staggered to her knees even though her armour was caked with blood.

"Lord Tyrael." She said and coughed.

"Imperius did this, I presume." Tyrael said and kneeled.

"He tore through us like we were nothing." The woman said.

"I am afraid I cannot help you with your wounds. I have no knowledge in those matters." Tyrael said.

"I'll be fine, help me up. If you're going to stop that monster, I'm coming too." She said and held up her hand.

Tyrael began to protest but remembered himself saying something very similar to Linarel.

With the remains of her armour she was heavy, but after a short while she could walk on her own. As Tyrael wondered how, he noticed the flecks of power that were emanating from her eyes. Golden sparks of nephalem power. After they set into a run, they heard cries of pain and fear up ahead. They had caught up to Imperius.

The entrance to the caldera was through a narrow cleft in the peak and opened into a large space lit up by the magma smouldering within the mountain. The air was heavy with smoke and stiflingly hot. Dead Horadrim were scattered about, impaled or burnt. Imperius stood in the centre of the space, his form wreathed in lightning energy.

"Back! Get back!" Vaisoris shouted in the distance. The lightning was coming from his medallion.

Imperius grunted and with a tap of his spear against the ground, the lightning vanished.

The woman breaks into a run towards Imperius, but he is too far away, and she is still too far away when Imperius throws his spear, impaling the old arcanist. The woman screams and charges Imperius, slamming the full weight of her body into the angel, who does not budge. With an armoured glove he backhands the woman who falls to the ground before she slowly crawls towards Vaisoris.

Imperius did not even spare Tyrael a glance as he began walking towards the Soul Cage that lay on the ground, not a single protector left

In desperation, Tyrael closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. He might be mortal now, but his position as the Aspect of Wisdom, Malthael's successor, granted him some measure of power even now. But there was another Aspect he used to embody, one that had no form now.

 _The Courts of Justice sit without a lord._ Auriel had said. Tyrael reached out for that familiar bond and grasped it with his mind's eye. It was like holding on to a bolt of lightning. Agony surged through his body but still he held on until it became simply a pain, then a warmth that went to his very core. Angelic power suffused his form for the first time in many years and when he took a breath, he realised he did not need it. When he opened his eyes, the world of Sanctuary looked as it had over a millennia ago when he first looked upon it with the eyes of an Archangel. Familiar white tendrils spilled from his shoulders.

"Imperius!" Tyrael shouted and rose to his feet. _El'druin_ sat more comfortably in his hand than it had in years. His left arm gave not even a hint of pain.

His brother continued walking, sparing him not a mote of attention. His wings returned to him, Tyrael surged past Imperius and around to land on the narrow rock path, his shining sword held before him.

"Tyrael, what have you done?" Imperius stated in horror after a moment of confusion.

"What is necessary to stop you." Tyrael said. Mount Arreat rumbled beneath their feet. Soon it would not be an environment fit even for an Archangel.

"There will be no place in the High Heavens for this blasphemy." Imperius stated.

"That is not for you to judge, Imperius." Tyrael said.

With a roar of anger Imperius thrust _Solarion_ at Tyrael who deftly deflected the thrust then rolled around the bull-charge that Imperius followed with, cutting at Imperius' back with _El'druin_. A whip of light from Imperius' wings slapped the sword aside but Tyrael did not lose his grip, pulling the sword from the wing's grip. Imperius whirled to strike at Tyrael, flowing into attack after attack as Tyrael blocked the strikes. Dodging a counterattack, Imperius leapt backwards and thrust _Solarion_ forwards, firing a beam of golden energy at Tyrael. _El'druin_ shined a bright white as it blocked and absorbed the raging energies. The struggle between the two ancient weapons filled the space with near enough light to blind, so Imperius charged, but Tyrael dodged aside at the last moment and moved his wings to snare the angel. For a moment he succeeded and Imperius struggled to disentangle himself, but before Tyrael could move to strike, the angel rammed his spear into the ground, releasing a torrent of energy in a column around him. Tyrael retracted his seared wings and deflected another strike from the spear but was too slow to move away as Imperius charged a third time, flying a few meters before landing on his back in the dirt. Tyrael struck out with his wings as Imperius closed in but the angel countered with his own and led way with the spear. The razor-sharp blade stopped a hair's breadth short of Tyrael's neck.

"A mortal can never stand against an angel." Imperius said.

"I never needed to." Tyrael said and coughed.

The storm in the centre of the space intensified suddenly, drawing Imperius' attention. The Soul Cage sat at the edge of the platform, one of the hatches open, the scarred woman slumped to the ground next to it, utterly spent. She held Vaisoris' medallion in her hand.

"Your rage and your prejudice blinded you, Imperius. They were your undoing." Tyrael said as Valla's soul sprang from the cage into the rumbling storm inside Arreat's core.

Imperius shouted and leapt over and past Tyrael, his wings carrying him further than Tyrael could intercept. Imperius thrust _Solarion_ forwards, the blade beginning to glow red-hot with energy.

But before the Archangel could reach the glowing orb, it vanished then in an instant shifted into a tall humanoid composed of the same glowing energies as the Nephalem's soul had been.

"In the name of the High Heavens, what is-" Imperius said but before he could finish, the being turned towards him and surged forwards, far faster than anything Tyrael had ever seen. One of its hands closed around Imperius' throat and he was pushed back without any seeming effort, slamming into the rocky floor with enough force to dislodge rocks and dust from the ceiling.

"What are you?" Imperius said, his hands reaching for his spear that had fallen beside him.

"Your mistake." The creature said.

It placed a foot on Imperius' hand then raised its own opened fist. A wave emanated as the fist closed, stripping away all sound. Tyrael felt nothing as it passed him, but he saw both angel and demon vanish in the plain below Mount Arreat's caldera. In the blink of an eye, the raging battle was gone, not even dust on the wind.

"After this, there will be no more interference from either the Heavens or the Hells in the affairs of humanity. They'll be free of your schemes." The creature said.

"The Worldstone is shattered, monster, that is impossible." Imperius said, squirming in its grip.

"Watch me." The creature responded, then tightened its grip with such speed that Tyrael could hear something like a crack of thunder. Imperius evaporated.

The caldera was silent. Even Mount Arreat had quietened in the creature's presence.

"Who- what are you?" Tyrael said, trying to keep his voice level.

The creature looked at him and gently floated down to just above the rock floor. Its features shifted and a familiar face appeared.

"I have a name, you know." It said and came to float in front of Tyrael.

"Valla?" Tyrael managed to stammer after a long moment of confusion. Before him was Valla, but not in mortal flesh. The colossal energies of her soul had coalesced into the Nephalem's form.

"I knew you'd remember." Valla said with a grin, then her expression turned more sombre.

"Hello, Tyrael. It feels like forever since last."

"But, how?" Tyrael said, nearly speechless.

"You'll have to ask someone smarter than me. All I know is that I'm here now, and that it's over. For good." Valla said.

"What's over?"

"I can't explain fully. I said some lofty words, but I won't be around much longer in this form. I spent myself with the restructuring." Valla said.

"The restructuring?" Tyrael said.

"From this point on, no angel or demon can enter Sanctuary without my invitation. For good." Valla said. Feeling the remnants of raw power rolling off her, Tyrael knew she was not exaggerating.

"And if I won't be around for much longer, the deadline for an invitation is nigh." She continued. The echo of a smile on her glowing face.

On some level, Tyrael had known a decision like this would come soon. He turned around to the young angel behind him.

"Linarel, I need you to bring a message from me to the Angiris Council." Tyrael said.

"My lord." Linarel stood to attention.

"Tell them it has been an honour to stand beside them all these millennia, but this is farewell. Archangel, no, the man known as Tyrael will never set foot in the High Heavens again."

"My lord?" Linarel said.

"I would hurry away, angel, time grows short." Valla said before Linarel could continue. As if to prove her point, her form flickered in and out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Linarel moved to speak but kept his silence.

Tyrael took his sword in hand and held its blade in the air, but no portal came.

"I said it wouldn't work like that anymore." Valla said and reached out, lightly touching an invisible surface beside her. A ripple formed at her touch and as the small waves cascaded through the air, the innermost turned the colour of the light blue sky above the Diamond Gates. A blink of an eye later, the gates of the Silver City were visible through the portal Valla had created. The last that Sanctuary would ever see.

Valla and Tyrael were alone in the caldera now. For a moment, neither spoke. There was too much to say and too little time.

"It was an honour, Tyrael." Valla said. Her form shimmered for a heartbeat.

"Nay," Tyrael said, blinking away tears, "It has been my honour, Valla of Sanctuary, from the very first."

He moved to take her hand, such as it was, but she moved past it and embraced him. The 'skin' of her new form was warm, like the sun on a summer afternoon. It reminded Tyrael of ancient memories, of seeing the High Heavens for the first time. There they stood until Valla faded for good, the golden flecks drifting away on the wind.


	11. Peace Everlasting - EPILOGUE

It was a bustling market day in New Tristram. Farmers, craftsmen and merchants hawked their wares to any and all passers-by. When they grew weary, hungry or thirsty, they could retreat to the inn that had been rebuilt at the centre of town and was famous throughout all of Khanduras and most of the world. _Leah's Rest_ was its name, and any traveller, tired and dirty from the road, could find shelter here. The journals of the storied Deckard Cain were on display for visitors with cautious fingers, and the innkeeper claimed that the Nephalem herself had sponsored the construction, though most simply laughed and asked him if angels had lifted the timbers too.

Less often visited was a small grove on the outskirts of town. A few trees had been planted since the grove had found its new purpose, but the same old twisted tree still stood, despite the sharp wind that used to blow across it.

Two gravestones had been built in that grove. One had begun to show signs of age, but one was newly constructed. It had a humble, simple design evident of great skill and care in its construction. This was what was written on its surface.

 _Here lies Valla, 1265-1286_

 _Also known as the Nephalem._

 _With her words and her deeds, she touched us all_

 _And gave us peace everlasting._

 ** _FIN_**

[ So, here it is. The ending. It's done. It's the longest story I've ever written by quite a few pages.

I'd like to thank kenyizsu on for inadvertently prodding me to write this version, as it's been a great experience. Valla was a great character to write and I was sad that I for obvious reasons couldn't keep writing her, so it was a welcome return even for me when she showed up at the end.

I will say; I don't plan on writing more on this. As for Tyrael's future, maybe he fights to unite the human nations, maybe he finds a mortal wife and has some kids.

Valkana survives and returns to the Horadrim, though what that order is going to do now that the other realms are gone, nobody knows. ]


End file.
